


Crown Of Thorns

by WulfenOne



Series: Butterflies With Angel Wings [27]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WulfenOne/pseuds/WulfenOne
Summary: Sam Guthrie and Rebecca Braddock hadn't expected their first time together to be so eventful. Outside forces seem very keen to make it turn out otherwise, but Rebecca's extended family will close ranks before that happens.





	1. Discovery

The clinic is busy, even for this early in the morning. Young women are clustered together in the waiting room, holding tickets that show when they'll get to be seen by a doctor. Some of them have people with them – some even have little children already tugging at their trouser legs, or playing noisily with the toys from their pushchairs, throwing them across the room and causing their parents to have to fetch them irritably. Me, I'm sat here with Sam, trying to keep my heart from smashing its way out of my chest. My left hand is clasped in Sam's right, and we both are watching the clock anxiously, as if we're counting down the hours to our own executions. In a way, I suppose we are – if Mum finds out about the mishap we had with the condom, she'll probably wring Sam's neck, and mine too. And if Sam's mother finds out, she'll probably call him a sinner for sleeping with me outside of marriage and tell him she never wants to see him again.

No. This is the best way for everybody. It's just fixing a mistake we made last night, that's all.

_Keep telling yourself that,_  I think. _You might start believing it some time._

Sam's hand tightens around mine, and he ends his staring match with the clock to say "Not long now, Bec," in a strained, hoarse voice, before he directs my attention to the ticket counter and then to the scrap of pink paper I'm holding in my white-knuckled hand.

"No," I say, distractedly. "I suppose not." Sam sees my discomfort, and looks down at his feet for a moment or so before speaking again.

"Look, Bec, I –"

" _Please_ , Sam," I say, frustration and anger at my own stupidity bleeding through into my voice, "don't keep doing this to yourself. It's not your fault. Can we just get this over and done with and get out of here, please?"

Sam nods, closing his eyes for a moment or so, and then glancing at the ceiling briefly. "Yeah," he says his voice almost a whisper. "Yeah, okay."

The number on the electronic sign above our heads clicks round to my number. "Number twenty-three?" says the nurse at the desk, looking hopefully at the people milling around her. I put my hand up, and she beckons me over to where she is sitting. It's not easy, picking my way through an assault course of toys, children and pushchairs, but I manage it eventually, with Sam only a few moments behind me. The nurse points me down a corridor to my right, saying "Dr Milbury will see you now. Go down the hall, take the first left, and then it's the first door on your right, okay?"

"Thank you," I say, throwing my crumpled ticket into the overflowing waste-paper bin that sits forlornly at the front of the reception desk, before taking the required directions and then ending up in front of a simple, featureless door that has "Dr Milbury" painted onto it in basic black lettering. I knock gently on the door, and a voice comes from beyond it inviting me inside. Taking hold of the door-handle and pushing the door open, I see that the office inside is full of files piled one on top of another, stuffed full of notes and papers. Behind the desk is sat Dr Milbury, and when he sees Sam and me come in, he pushes himself to his feet and walks over to greet us both with firm handshakes. He has a very tall, slender frame, and his black hair is swept neatly back over his scalp, with not even one strand out of place. His blue eyes are piercingly bright, and they make me feel uncomfortable for a second or two, as their intensity takes me by surprise a little. His mind also feels a little weird, slipping in and out of my telepathy like an eel – but then again, it's probably nothing to be worried about. Plenty of mutants and even baseline humans have strange brainwaves, after all, so this in itself isn't really something to get concerned about. Mum would probably tell me the same thing, so I try and relax a little, breathing deeply and evenly until I'm as calm as I can possibly be.

"Now then," Dr Milbury says, smiling in a friendly sort of way. "How can I help you two young people?"

"We… I need some of those morning-after pills," I say, softly, gripping Sam's hand tightly as I relate the events of the previous evening. "We were having sex for the first time last night and the… the condom tore."

"Ah. I can see how that might be perceived as a slight set-back," Dr Milbury says, nodding in understanding – his face telling me more than his strange mental patterns ever could. "Well, are you sure you need them? Have you been taking the pill at all?"

"No," I reply, honestly. "I really didn't think I'd need it if we were using a condom."

"I see," Dr Milbury says, steepling his fingers in thought for a moment or two. Then he looks at Sam, pointing one forefinger at him questioningly. "And you, son – I'm guessing you haven't had the… snip, would you call it?" To accentuate his point he mimes a pair of cutting scissors with the first and middle fingers of his left hand, and then looks at Sam with an inquisitive expression on his sallow features.

"No sir, I have not," Sam says, his Southern manners kicking in automatically despite – or maybe because of – the situation. I can sense the rigid discipline his family life had built into him returning to hang around his shoulders like a cloak, and it feels as if Sam is actually glad for that right now. I know I would be, that's for sure.

"I see," Dr Milbury says again, before he nods and takes out a small slip of paper from his desk. He pulls out the pen from his top pocket and writes something down on it briefly. "Well, there are definitely some tablets that the young lady can take to avoid pregnancy. You two did very well to get here so quickly – so often I have to deal with the after-effects of kids sleeping together too young and not using protection. It's just a shame that you had to pick a defective batch, that's all." He sighs. "Well, you won't have to worry any longer – those pills I've prescribed for you ought to be enough to help take this weight off your minds completely." He smiles reassuringly, and then rises up from behind his desk to hand me the prescription form that he has just finished filling out. "Just take this to the front desk – they'll know what to do with it." I exhale almost audibly with relief, and before I can say anything, Dr Milbury laughs. "Well, I think that says it all, don't you?" The tension in the room evaporates almost instantly, as both Sam and I feel a great sense of relief flooding through our thoughts. Turning to face Sam, I instinctively reach out to him for a hug, and when he returns it, I feel so safe, so secure, that nothing could possibly hurt me at this moment.

"Looks like we didn't screw up after all," Sam whispers softly in my ear, his voice quavering just a little.

"I guess not," I say, my eyes shut tightly as I press Sam close to me. "Thanks for being here, Sam."

"Not a problem," he replies. "You want to go get those pills, or what?"

"Sure. Why not?" I say, feeling the paper form crumple as I grip it tightly in my fist. "Can't be a bad thing, right?"

Dr Milbury stands up and opens the door for us, giving us a reassuring smile as we walk down the corridor to the dispensary, past all the chaos in the waiting room and the tired-looking staff who are trying to work around every out-of-control child. Stepping up to the dispensary window, I pass the scrunched-up paper through to the nurse behind it, and then pay for the medicine (fortunately, Dad's health insurance covers me pretty completely, so I don't have to pay for the consultation – which I'm glad about. Although it'll be pretty awkward to explain why I had to come here today when he gets his premium through). When I get the tablets from the nurse, wrapped up as they are in a plain white paper bag with the hospital emblem on the side, I turn quickly and make my way out of the door as quickly as I can. Ignoring the directions, I break open the plastic cap of the bottle and put one of the tablets under my tongue as soon as I can.

Sam glances at me curiously as I do so, and I shrug. "Just to be safe," I tell him, after I've swallowed the small tablet. "The sooner I can forget about this, the better."

"I guess so," Sam says uncertainly, before he exhales deeply and then puts his arm around me, his face cracking into a cheerful smile (as cheerful as he can manage right now, anyway). "Well, that probably wasn't the kinda thing you wanted to deal with after last night, right?"

"Not really, no," I reply, honestly. "But at least we know to check our condoms before we use them now, don't we?" Sam bursts out laughing at that – more out of relief than anything else, I guess.

"Yeah, I guess we'll have to," he says, rubbing my shoulder with his hand and kissing my temple. "You want to go home now, or what?"

"Yes," I agree firmly. "Definitely. I don't want to see this place again for a long time…"

* * *

 

About a month and half later, I'm once again woken by the sudden and violent urge to be sick. Pushing my bedcovers off myself quickly, I stumble out of my room into the nearest bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl, after grabbing a robe to preserve my modesty. Scrabbling for the metal and bone handle, I flush the mess away, the toilet complying with a noisy, grumpy gurgle. Third time this week, I think, sourly, as I wipe my chin with a piece of toilet paper and spit into the hand-basin, after gargling with some mouthwash to take away the bitter taste of bile sticking to the back of my throat.  _Either I'm sick, or –_

I stop myself before I come to the end of that sentence, not wanting to think of the alternative. The tablets I took ought to have stopped that… shouldn't they?

"One way to find out, I guess," I say sourly, before walking as quickly as I can back to my room and getting dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Pulling on some trainers, I tie my hair back into a long ponytail, tucking my braid behind my ear as I do so, and then make my way to the nearest lift down to the med-lab. Pushing open the clear glass door, I step carefully into the room, hoping that Hank isn't in the middle of some life-changing experiment even at this early hour. Fortunately, I can see him hunched over a work bench at the other end of the lab, two test tubes in a rack sitting to his left, and a Bunsen burner flickering gently to his right. "Hank?" I say, cautiously, hoping not to startle him too much. "Can I talk to you?"

Hank turns from his experiment and smiles widely. "Good morning, Rebecca!" he exclaims, a joyous expression crossing his face for a moment or two. "What can I do for you at such an early hour?"

"I… I just threw up for the third time this week," I tell him, a nervous edge coming into my voice. As Hank approaches me, sudden concern obvious in his face and in his thoughts, I hold up a hand to make him stay where he is for a moment or two. "I don't feel sick now, Hank. I feel fine… except for the mornings." I wipe my hands down over my face, suddenly feeling very afraid and alone. "Do you think I could be pregnant?"

"Let's not put the cart before the horse, Rebecca," Hank says, trying valiantly to reassure me by taking one of my hands in his big blue paw of a left hand and squeezing hard. "You could be suffering from any one of a million things, not just pregnancy. Come with me and we'll sort this out as soon as we can, all right?" He leads me to a long red-leather-covered chair, which is surrounded by machinery that hums quietly. "Sit here, and we can let the computer put your mind to rest." Then, he retreats to a control panel a little way along the bank of machines and taps in a few instructions with his clawed forefingers. From above my head a small, mobile arm extends out of the medical equipment and starts to scan me, from head to toe, with a soft red light. It hurts my eyes a bit when it catches my line of sight, but that's enough for me to look away – I don't feel much like playing "Hard Stares" with it today. Hank nods with interest as the machine transmits its information to the paper print-out in front of him, putting one hand thoughtfully to his chin as he does so – until the machine reaches my stomach. Hank stops then, and moves his hand to his brows, his eyes closing tightly. "Oh dear," he says. "It seems your earlier assessment of the situation was in actual fact entirely correct – apparently, you are almost one and a half months pregnant."

I shake my head in disbelief. "No," I say, almost frantically. "No, that can't be."

"I'm sorry, but the read-out is correct – see for yourself." Hank hands me the neatly torn piece of computer paper so that I can read its text, before he leaves me to sit still for a moment or two, while he drags the chair he'd been using a moment or two ago over to where I'm sitting. He sets it down back-rest first, so that he can rest his arms on the top while he talks to me. "Would you like to tell me something, Rebecca?"

Everything seems to crumple around me then, like a house of cards. It feels as if I've been trapped in one of Mum's puzzle boxes, and can't get out. "Oh, God, Hank…" I begin, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me. "I thought we'd managed to make sure this wouldn't happen…" I bury my head in my hands as I feel angry, frustrated tears beginning to spill out of my eyes. "This shouldn't be happening to me!" I say through an involuntary sob. Hank stands then, puts one of his hands on my shoulders and uses the other to lift my head up so he can look me directly in the eye.

"What's happening to you, Rebecca?" he asks me gently, his blue eyes holding my gaze effortlessly. "What did you want to fix?"

"When Sam and I… when we had sex for the first time… the condom, it split," I say, wiping at my eyes with the back of my right hand. "We went to the doctor's in Westchester to get some morning-after pills, and I took them for a whole week afterwards. I thought that was the end of it, Hank!"

"Hmm," Hank says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with one hand. "What was the name of the doctor you spoke to? Maybe I can straighten this out for you."

"Dr… Dr Milbury," I say, racking my brains to come up with exactly the right name. Hank nods, then walks over to the telephone on the edge of his desk and taps in the phone number for Westchester's local surgery.

"I should have this sorted out for you pretty quickly," he says, before somebody obviously picks up on the other end of the line. "Yes, hello – good morning, madam. This is Dr Henry McCoy – yes, the Dr Henry McCoy, of the Avengers. Yes, I'll send an autograph to you as soon as I can. I have a patient here who is very distressed and upset, who says she went to your surgery about a month and a half ago to get morning-after pills after a slight sexual mishap. However, they seem not to have worked, and she is now pregnant. Could I speak to the doctor who gave her the medication? My patient informs me that his name was Dr Milbury." Hank's face seems to get drained of colour then – or would have done if it weren't covered in fur. "Yes, I see. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Thank you anyway." He puts the phone down listlessly and then looks at me. His eyes tell me more than anything he could say, but he opens his mouth to speak anyway. "I'm so sorry, Rebecca –" he begins, his voice sounding fractured and about a quarter of its usual strength.

"What?" I say, quickly. "Why are you sorry?"

"They said they've never had a Dr Milbury working there – not today, not last month, not ever."

_Oh no… not **him**. Not now. _ "But… we saw him. He gave us medicine. He said I'd be all right." I get up off my seat then, anger flaring in my chest like fire. "He said I'd be all right!"

Hank takes a deep breath and walks closer to me, so that he can take hold of my hand and clutch it tightly in his paws. "Rebecca… if this 'Dr Milbury' was who I suspect it actually was, then you of all people should know that lying and subterfuge like this are his trademarks. He has obviously kept an eye on you, despite everything he's said and done to suggest otherwise, and this was too good an opportunity for him to pass up. You are one of his greatest achievements, Rebecca, and he would do anything to preserve your bloodline." He lets go of my hand and then rubs his eyes tiredly. "Quite aside from him, however, you and Sam have a choice to make now, about whether or not you wish to keep this child."

I sigh. "We don't have much of a choice, do we? Even if we give it up, Sinister will still find it."

Hank shakes his head. "That's… not what I meant. What I meant was whether or not you would consider an abor –"

"No," I say firmly, cutting Hank off mid-word. "Never. Whatever I thought before, this is my baby, Hank: mine and Sam's. Not his. I won't let him scare me into anything like that – I'm not his experiment any more! I'm a human being, damn it!" I almost round on Hank then, my hands raised as if to strike him.

"I know you are; you've proved that to me and the rest of this house a dozen times over," Hank says hastily, holding his own hands up to try and fend me off. "But are you ready to make the sacrifices a child would ask of you?" He points at me with one clawed finger, as if he is lecturing me for stealing a cookie from the biscuit tin. "And there will be sacrifices – just ask your mother. She'll tell you the exact same thing I am right now. You and Sam have to be  _one hundred percent sure_  you can handle a child, or to bring it into the world at this point would be cruel – for all three of you."

"I'm not going to have this baby cut out of me just because I don't want to be  _inconvenienced_ , Hank!" I snap, fury flooding into my voice. "I saw too much of that when I was with Sinister. He treated life like it was nothing." I pause, shaking my head resolutely. "I don't want to be like him. Not now, not ever."

"That's a very admirable sentiment, Rebecca," Hank replies calmly, "but please don't let that same sentiment cloud your judgement. Promise me you'll think about this?" He smiles at me hopefully, trying to defuse the situation.

I sigh. "All right, Hank. I'll think about it." Pausing, a wry smile suddenly crosses my lips for a second or two. "It's funny, you know… just after Sam and I had had sex, I was pretty sure I didn't want this to happen at all – but now that it has, I don't want it to stop. Does that make me crazy?"

Hank half-smiles in reply. "No, Rebecca… it just makes you human. You  _are_  allowed to change your mind now and again, you know."

"I guess so." I run my hands through my hair and then look towards the door. "I think I have a date with somebody important. I'll see you later, Hank."

"I look forward to it," Hank says, as I leave the med-lab, the doors hissing quietly shut behind me.

When I find Sam, he's having a bowl of dry Captain Crunch in the kitchen, and washing it down with orange juice. I've long since given up on asking him why he likes it this way, since even he can't explain why it appeals to him so much. When he sees me, he swallows quickly and then says "Hi, Bec. Sleep well?" before he gets up off his stool and kisses me hello gently.

"Not really," I say, with more honesty than I maybe should have. "Sam, I'm pregnant."

Sam almost bites through his lip at that (and really, I'm not surprised. Subtlety was never my strong point). "You're pregnant? I thought we'd been careful?"

"Remember our first time together?" I say, my chin dipped slightly towards my chest and my eyebrows raised a little. "When the condom tore? Hank and I traced it back to then."

"But… how?" Sam persists. "I thought we got those pills for you to take so this wouldn't happen?"

"We did that, yeah," I say, frustration rising in my guts as I say the words, "but the doctor we got them from was probably Sinister in disguise, so you can guess how effective they were. He's still watching me, even if it looks like he isn't. The bottom line is… we're having a baby, Sam. You and me. Unless… you'd rather I got rid of it?"

Sam shakes his head firmly. "No. No, I ain't gonna ask you to do that. It ain't right to end a life before it's had a chance to even begin." He smiles lopsidedly. "Besides, Paigey'll want the chance to play auntie, an' who could say no to that?"

"I wish I had your confidence, Sam," I say. "I know I want to have this baby, but I'm frightened of what's going to happen when I do."

Sam gathers me close to him and hugs me tightly. "You don't need to be afraid, Bec. We'll do this together, all right? Like you said – you and me, kid, all the way."

"All right," I say, after a brief pause. "Now all we have to do is tell Mum and Dad."

_Well, here goes nothing…_


	2. Disclosure

Sam and I are walking through the corridors of the Xavier Institute, holding each other's hands tightly and trying not to let our hearts crawl out of our mouths. We've decided between us that it's best we tell Mum and Dad about the baby now, before they find out a few months down the line anyway. Sam said it would save us all a lot of headaches if they don't get a nasty surprise when they least expect it – and knowing how many kids his family's had, I can believe he's completely serious about that. So here we are, making our way towards the place in the garden where I can sense my parents and my little brother.

And I'm bloody **terrified**.

Sam isn't much better, though; I can feel him wanting to turn around and walk the other way as fast as he can. I think both of us would much rather get into a fight with Apocalypse than do this right now. I give Sam a pretty half-hearted smile and say "Scared?"

"Yeah," Sam replies softly. "Never been so scared of anythin' in my entire life." He tightens his grip on my hand then, and brings it to his lips for a moment or two, as if he's trying to give me a little encouragement. "You ready to go do this?"

"No." I run my hand through his hair, tangling my fingers gently in the blond strands for a moment or two. "You?"

"No." Sam shrugs, trying to make the small smile on his face widen a little. "Well, I guess we're both in the same boat, leastways." He gestures towards the back door a little way down the hall, and says "Better get this over with, right?" Opening the door for me, he lets me out into the garden before him, and we're suddenly out into the bright sunshine of the summer day that's only a quarter of the way through right now. The trees are all filtering the light through their leaves and casting broad shadows on the ground, and it's next to one of these shadows that Mum and Dad are sitting. Dad has his wings spread out so as to let as much sunlight as possible shine on them, and Mum is quietly playing with Tom (who's quite big now that he's almost four months old – Hank says he might even start crawling soon). Her hair is purple again, and has been for quite a long time now, ever since she and Dad brought me back from Lady Mortis' dimension (she told me that she'd wanted a change from blonde for a while beforehand, actually, but that she'd never got round to doing it because of Tom distracting her so much. Guess she found the time somewhere, though…). It's odd, really, because although I know she used to have it purple all the time, I've only ever seen her blonde. I suppose I'll get used to it in the end, though… Mum won't exactly change it if I don't. She's like that – she does what makes her feel good, and everybody else just has to accept it.

It's one of the things I like most about her, I think.

"Hi, Mum," I say, waving with the hand that isn't clutching Sam's fingers in a white-knuckled grip. "Hi, Dad."

"Hello, button," Mum says, sounding delighted to see me. "Hello, Sam." Dad follows suit, putting down his book and sitting up so that he can talk to us properly.

"Hey, kids," he smiles. "What brings you out here?"

_Here goes nothing._

"Um… Dad, Mum… Sam and I have something to tell you," I begin, uncertainly. I can see the expressions on their faces ready to go one way or the other, and the fact that their emotions aren't set either doesn't make me any more comfortable or able to predict what their reaction might be. For a telepath, that's not a nice feeling, and not one I like going through that often. "We… we're… we're having a baby."

That tears it. The calm atmosphere is ripped to pieces in a fraction of an instant. Mum is up off the ground in half the time it took me to say what I just said, her face twisted with fury. Tom wails against her chest, but she ignores him, so angry is she with what I've just told her. "You idiot," she snarls at Sam, her voice dripping with anger and rage and venom. "You  _stupid_  little boy. Do you have any  _idea_  what you've done?" She looks almost ready to hit him, but he doesn't do anything. Instead he just stands and absorbs everything she throws at him, looking at the ground like a dog waiting for a beating. Mum storms up to him and jabs a finger in his face, using it almost like the point of a knife. "Do you?"

"This wasn't his fault, Mum," I say, trying to push between Mum and Sam. Thanks to my slightly above average strength (if I were a normal girl, I probably wouldn't have stood a chance… Mum can be very strong when she's angry), I manage to force Mum back so that I can get her to leave Sam alone. "Don't blame him."

Mum throws her head back then, and almost screams with laughter. "Oh, really? Is that right? And where was he when this happened, Rebecca – doing press-ups? Watching television? Baking a fucking cake? Who the hell should I blame?"

"Blame the fact that I asked  _him_  to sleep with me, and not the other way around. Blame the condom that ripped when we had sex," I say without flinching, keeping my voice coldly simple and making sure to keep my eyes locked with hers. "Blame Sinister for giving me fake medicine when I tried to get this fixed. This isn't Sam's fault. We tried everything we possibly could to stop this from happening, and it still happened. So you'd better deal with that, Mum, because Sam and I have sure as hell had to deal with it ever since we found out. All right?"

Mum gets stopped short then, all of her anger hitting an invisible brick wall and getting smashed to bits in an instant. "Oh, God…" she whispers, rubbing a hand over her face. "Oh, Rebecca… I'm so sorry." She takes a deep breath and looks over at Sam then, regret plainly splashed all over her face. "I'm sorry, Sam. Apparently I shouldn't have gone off at you like that."

Sam eases his shirt collar out a little so that he can breathe again, and then takes a deep gulp of air. "Don't… don't mention it, Mrs Worthington. My momma would've done the same thing, I guess."

"So… when's it due?" Dad asks as he gets to his feet and stands behind Mum with his arms folded, still looking at Sam with a little bit of suspicion. It doesn't feel very nice to have my father looking at my boyfriend like he's just crawled out from underneath a rock, sure, but I guess under the circumstances, it's understandable. I don't have to like it, but it looks like that's the way things are right now – and like I told Mum, I'm going to have to deal with it…

"Hank didn't think it'd be much before February," I tell him, as certainly as I can. "Right now everything's still pretty vague."

Dad nods, a thoughtful look crossing his face for a second or two. "Are you going to keep it?" he says, sounding pretty unapologetically blunt.

"Yes," Sam says, his voice regaining some of its old strength. "Bec and I talked this through together, and neither of us wants to give it up or get a termination." Dad opens his mouth to begin speaking again, but Sam cuts him off almost before he has a chance to give voice to the thoughts I can feel in the centre of his skull. "I know what you're gonna say, sir, and I can promise you, I ain't gonna leave Bec on her own with this kid. I'll swear that on a stack of Bibles if you want me to."

"I hope you're telling the truth, Sam," Dad says quietly. "Because if you leave my little girl when she needs you most –"

Sam steps right up to Dad then, so that they are nose to nose, and he glares at Dad with his eyes reduced to narrow slits. "I know what it's like to grow up without a daddy, sir. I ain't gonna put our kid through that if I can help it." He takes a few paces backwards then, rubbing his neck almost guiltily, and takes another deep breath to gather his thoughts. "Look, sir... my own daddy died when I was fifteen, an' I had to take his job in the mines just to make ends meet. I had to earn the money to get food an' clothes for little Paigey an' the rest of my brothers an' sisters. Me. Nobody else. Not even my momma." He pauses again, shrugging. "That oughtta tell you I know somethin' about responsibility." He's acting so differently to a few moments ago (when he was just taking everything Mum was throwing at him without complaining) that it's hard for me to understand why he would choose now to state his case so angrily, although the fact that his thoughts are telling me the same thing as his words are – that he's furious at being seen as somebody who'd run away from responsibility at the first sign of trouble – is probably the main reason.

"All right, Sam," Mum says, nodding slightly as she rocks my brother to and fro a little, to try and get him to settle back down. "I believe you. But I want the pair of you to understand… this is not a game. This is a lifetime commitment."

"I know, Mum," I reply, touching my belly for a second or two, as if I'm expecting to feel the pulsing heart of my baby through my skin. "I've seen you and Dad with Tom, remember?"

Mum half-smiles at that. "Yes, I know that, button, but you haven't seen your father and me being kept awake at three in the morning because your brother won't settle in the evening, or because he needs a midnight feed, or because he needs his nappy changed. This won't ever be easy, Rebecca. I just want you to understand that – before you wander into it unprepared and get the shock of your life." Her smile blossoms then, and she gestures at my little brother with a slight dip of her head. "I'm not trying to scare you away from this – truly I'm not. My life has been so much richer since you and Tom came along, but the first few months were really tough – both times. Just… be prepared, my darling. That's all you can ever do." She gently hands Tom to Dad then, and cautiously steps forward to put her arms around me and press my head to her shoulder. "I'll be here for you if you need anything, I promise." Then laughter ripples across the front of her mind and from between her lips, and she says "Just don't ask me to breastfeed your baby for you. I have enough trouble with my own son, thank you."

"Okay, Mum," I say, leaning in close to my mother as her arms hold me to her. I can feel a big stupid smile spreading across my own face right now, and it's such a relief. I was expecting so much worse, after all… "Would you like me to start calling you Grandma Worthington now, just so you get used to it?"

Mum withdraws a pace and gives me a narrow-eyed look then. "Don't push your luck, button. I'm not an old lady yet, you know."

"Plenty of women are young grandmothers these days, though, Mum," I say, deciding to push my luck about as far as it can go. "Jean is, you know – Cable had a son in the future. His name was Tyler."

Making a face, Mum folds her arms. "Yes, well… being so much like Jean would be… interesting, but I'd like to avoid that, if you don't mind. I like being me a lot better, after all." She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then says "I suppose you can tell your baby they can call me Granny Betsy if they like. Anything's better than 'Grandma Worthington'." Sighing, she mutters "Now I remember why I wanted an uncomplicated life…" before she touches my face with her hand and smiles again. "But then again, I suppose I can get used to this one, too."

"Thanks, Mum," I say, shifting my hand up to Mum's so that I can squeeze it gratefully. "'Granny Betsy' it is, then, I guess."

Dad takes a deep breath then and offers his hand to Sam. "Congratulations, son," he says after a short pause. I can tell he's still not entirely happy about this whole situation, but he's trying to get more comfortable with it – if only for my sake, and for Mum's. "Let me know if you guys need anything."

Sam looks at Dad's extended hand for a moment or two and then takes it cautiously, saying "Um… thanks, Mr Worthington."

"No problem, kid," Dad says, offering Sam as reassuring a smile as he can. "Anything I can do to help, just say so." He gives me a smile then, too, and walks over to enfold me tightly in his arms. "Don't be afraid to ask, all right?"

"All right, Dad," I say, suddenly feeling a lot happier than I had expected to ten minutes ago. I can still sense that there are lots of things I need to work out, but all in all, things are looking up…

Sam and I spend the next hour or so talking with Mum and Dad about the early weeks and months of pregnancy, and Mum leaves nothing to the imagination (from what she tells me, it's actually pretty surprising that anybody ever has more than one child. Some of the things that can go wrong made me feel really ill). Sam goes a bit green from time to time, and it makes me laugh – after all, he's not the one who's going to have to go through it.

When she's finished telling me all about what a rough time I'm going to have, Mum asks Dad and Sam if they wouldn't mind leaving the two of us be for a little while. Without another word, the two of them make a quick exit, moving away to join in the game of catch that the rest of the team's men (except Bishop, naturally) are playing, and then it's just Mum and me.

"This is going to be a strange time for all of us, button," she says, as we sit on the ground facing each other. "I want you to know that whatever you need, I'll give you, no questions asked."

I nod, gratefully. "I know, Mum. Thank you." Mum winks then, happy to see me feeling so relaxed about this whole situation.

"Good girl," she says appreciatively, before she gets to her feet and continues "I have something I want to give you." She pauses for a second, before qualifying that statement with "For the baby." Offering me her hand, she helps me get to my feet, and then she starts to lead me towards the mansion, my hand still in hers. We walk across the mansion's lawn and up to the back door, and then move through into the front hall and grand staircase, before Mum leads me up to the room she shares with Dad. When she has got me sat down in a chair on the far side of the room from where her and Dad's bed is, she looks around under the bed for a moment or two, before she brings out a small leather case. "A-ha!" she exclaims, triumphantly. "Here we are…" Thumbing open the locks on the case, she flips open the lid and begins emptying out the contents onto the duvet. She brings out a couple of small scrapbooks, a few old, faded photographs, and a small number of bags of marbles, before she finally finds what it is she's been looking for. "I want you to meet somebody," she says, holding up a small stuffed rabbit. His fur is going threadbare in a few places, and he has an almost sad, but contemplative look on his face. "This is Mr Poo – I took him everywhere when I was a little girl, and I kept him with me even when I grew up, to remind me where I'd come from." _I even slept with him a few times after Kwannon came back_ , she sends to me, as if she doesn't want anybody else to know – perhaps because she thinks it might compromise the image she's built up around the rest of the team.  _I needed a good cuddle then, that's for sure._ Then, she takes my hand and carefully but firmly slips the little toy into it. "I want your baby to have him."

"I… I don't know what to say, Mum," I tell her, truthfully.

Mum chuckles then, and closes my fingers over the rabbit. "Just say 'thank you', button. That's all I'm after."

"Thank you," I say, feeling a little lump come to my throat as I do so. "I think I need one of those cuddles now. I'm so scared, Mum." Mum moves forwards just a little then, and presses me to her, kissing me on the cheek with a feather-light touch of her lips.

"Don't be," she says. "You're not alone, Rebecca. You have me, your father, your uncle Scott, Jean, and most of all you have the father of your child all here for you. We're not going to let you do this all by yourself, you know." A little touch of laughter flutters at the edge of her mind and from between her lips as she continues "You were here for me when I was pregnant with Tom – do you think I wouldn't return the favour, just to drive you as far up the wall as you did me?"

That makes me laugh, too – if there's one thing Mum is good at, it's being able to break tension. "Oh, now I'm  _really_ worried."

Mum gives me her best screen-villain cackle and evil grimace. "Be afraid, button. Be very afraid." Then she takes me by the hand and leads me back out of the bedroom, down the stairs and into the garden again, before she picks up a Frisbee that is lying on one of the wooden benches on the terrace of the mansion, and holds it up. "Would you like to play catch?" she asks. "I think it's a great way to spend an afternoon – it's much more relaxing than a Danger Room programme, for one thing, and there's no risk of serious personal injury." She grins then, naughtily. "Of course, Danger Room programmes and the risk of serious personal injury have their advantages too, but in your condition…"

I roll my eyes. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Mum replies, candidly. "I got so sick of people saying that to me when I was carrying Tom – I think it's high time I got to do the same thing to somebody else. Turnabout is fair play, after all."

"I hate you," I say, sourly, before grabbing the Frisbee out of Mum's hand and throwing it halfway across the garden, hitting Bobby in the back of the head. When he turns around to see who threw it, his eyes looking slightly glazed, I point at Mum without hesitating. "She did it!" I shout, giving Bobby my best "butter wouldn't melt in my mouth" look. Then I glance at Mum, who is standing with her hands on her hips, almost demanding to know what I'm playing at, and I say "What was that about turnabout being fair play?"

The look on Mum's face says it all…


	3. Getting To Know You, Getting To Know All About You

The mansion's kitchen is quiet at this early hour of the morning, with most of the team asleep or enjoying a weekend lie-in. It's nice to have some peace and quiet, actually, because it's often impossible to find that in a house full of so many people – Mum says that she always liked it better when there was only one team of X-Men, and a small team at that (fewer thoughts to screen out, I guess). Mum's also told me that she came down here at this time when she first found out she was pregnant with my little brother, just to have a little space to think, and I can understand why – the atmosphere is so peaceful, it's hard to do anything else but relax. Rummaging through the cupboards, I pick out a mug and start brewing myself a cup of tea, while at the same time putting a few slices of toast into the large, multi-slice toaster and moving its dial to my favourite setting (which is "not quite toasted" – Sam can't understand how I can eat toast that's almost still just plain old bread, but then again, I can't understand how he could eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches, so I suppose it all evens out…). When the water is boiled, I pour it into the mug and inhale the rich scent of the tea, before taking a sip and savouring the subtle flavour as it rolls down my throat.

A few minutes later, my toast pops, and I take it from the toaster and spread some butter onto it, along with some strawberry jam, and then settle down at the kitchen table to eat it. I'm not two bites into my breakfast before I sense another mind at the end of the corridor.  _Oh, that's just great,_  I say silently, to whoever might be listening.  _All I wanted was a little bit of quiet time... is that really so bad?_

Before I get any kind of answer, the person who I'd sensed down the corridor makes their way through the entrance to the kitchen, and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. Bobby Drake is still dressed in his plain blue pyjamas and a red dressing gown. When he opens his eyes again, Bobby says "Oh, hey, kid – didn't expect you to be up this early. What's shakin'?"

"Nothing much – I just woke up," I say, trying not to let my annoyance at being disturbed sound too obvious, before deciding that making the best of the situation is probably a better idea. "I made some toast – would you like a piece?" I take one of the buttered slices of bread off my plate and offer it to him, trying not to let the melting butter drip onto the tablecloth at the same time. Bobby thinks for a second or two before reaching out and taking the toast from my hand, biting into it gratefully.

"Thanks," he says when he's finished his mouthful. "That's pretty good. Little underdone, maybe, but I ain't complaining." He pauses a moment, looking at me thoughtfully, and then continues "You know, Becky, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was something on your mind. You… want to talk about it?"

"Not really," I say, quietly, "but I guess you'd have found out about this anyway, so I might as well tell you now. I'm pregnant, Bobby."

Bobby blinks, stunned into silence (which, if what Dad's told me is to be believed, is something that doesn't happen very often). "Oh my," he exclaims finally, rubbing his right hand over his nose and mouth for a moment or two. "Do your mom and dad know? What do they think about it?" I nod.

"Yes, they know – I told them last week. They weren't very happy about it, but they've learnt to adjust." Bobby tries and fails not to look relieved when I say that, and sits back in his chair, exhaling visibly.

"Good," he says, "otherwise I'd probably have had to tell you about 'making sure you're ready for this', and I completely  _suck_  at sounding like a responsible adult." He paused, sipping his orange juice briefly. "So how's Sam taking all this?"

I shrug, and take another bite of my toast, chewing thoughtfully on the mouthful of jam, butter and bread before I answer Bobby's question. "He's been fine about it – more than fine, in fact," I say. "If it weren't for him, I think I'd be a lot more worried about this whole situation. I mean, I saw Mum give birth, and that scared me to death."

"No kidding," Bobby agrees, running his hand through his hair at the same time, so that he can ease out some of its early morning tangles. "I saw what happened when your dad aired the tape – if I'd been there myself, I'd have been scared to have a kid, too." He smiles, flexing his fingers around his glass and making a few ice cubes appear in it spontaneously. He reaches over to my glass, puts his finger on its rim, and says "Would you like some ice too?"

"Now that you mention it… yes, please," I say, hearing the delicate plop of some small lumps of ice appearing into my glass. "Thank you," I tell Bobby gratefully, before I take a sip of the newly-chilled juice. "That's really kind."

Bobby winks at me, and grins broadly. "Don't mention it, kid. What's the use of being a living Mr Frostee if I can't make ice cubes, right?"

I think about that for a second or two, before saying "Well, that makes sense, I guess."

When we have both finished our toast and drinks, Bobby gets up from the table, puts his chair carefully up against it, and says "Hey, I was just gonna go down to the Danger Room for a workout. You wanna come with?"

I smile broadly at the prospect of such an early morning wake-up call, and nod. "Sure – why not?"

* * *

 

The Danger Room is thankfully deserted (I'd actually expected Uncle Scott or Uncle Logan to be down here already, given that they like to be on their own quite a lot, and being in here makes that pretty easy). It's tempting sometimes to come down here by myself and beat the hell out of some holographic monsters, just to blow off a little bit of steam – and whenever Mum and Dad annoy me or do something that gets on my nerves, it's doubly tempting.

Bobby and I walk out into the centre of the room, our footsteps echoing around the grey, featureless walls like bells ringing, and then we stand facing each other, our breathing deep and even. Bobby says "You sure you don't want to do another programme? I'd hate to get you hurt in your condition –"

I wave him silent. "You won't. If the safeties are on then nothing bad can happen. Right?" Bobby looks a touch uncertain for a moment or two before he nods, which reassures me a little. "Good. You want to get started, then?" Looking up at the ceiling, I say "Computer, two sai blades, please."

In between where Bobby and I are standing, a low black platform appears from thin air. Positioned on it are two gleaming metal blades, which are shaped a little like large, three-pronged toasting forks. The middle point of both is extended far beyond the other two, which curve out from the blades' handles and end in sharp, slightly outwardly-turned dagger edges. Picking both of the blades up, one in each hand, I twirl them expertly around like a pro, trading off my inbuilt martial arts experience plus the hours of training I've put in down here, both by myself and with Mum and Dad. They whirr softly around my fingers, glittering in the low light levels of the Danger Room like deadly insects. Beside me, Bobby ices up into a form that looks more like the Hulk, his body gaining about a hundred pounds of mass instantly.  _You think there might be trouble?_  I send to him playfully.  _Aww… my hero._

"Kid, I'm only looking out for myself," Bobby says, glancing about himself carefully. "You get hurt, and I'll never hear the end of it – Sam would kill me, your mom would kill me, your dad would kill me, Scott would kill me… I'd be dead four times over, and I  _really_  don't want that, you know?"

He's got a point, I suppose, so I don't say anything more as the Danger Room fades away and the programme begins. It's a callisthenics programme that Uncle Logan designed (after he'd seen  _Star Trek_  do something similar, he put it into the Danger Room's computer right away). The scenery around us is leafy and humid, with twisted vines and bright, insect-filled flowers all around us. Above us is a canopy of interlocking branches, with monkeys running through them at regular intervals (too regular, I think, because it makes the whole thing look too… organised). Just as I've finished taking in the scenery, a huge, hairy monster (I can't tell whether it's supposed to be a man or an ape) comes crashing through the undergrowth, roaring through yellowed, broken teeth. Its gigantic fists swing wildly at me, as if it thinks I've just stolen its last meal, and I leap backwards, somersaulting through the air so that I can put a decent amount of space between it and myself. Beside me, Bobby uses my movement to put himself between me and the creature. "Stand back, kid," he says, trying to sound as firm as he can. As the monster thrashes towards us again, he raises one giant ice-fist and hammers it right into the creature's jaw, making it stagger backwards, spitting blood and teeth.

Using the momentary respite to my best advantage, I hop lightly onto Bobby's bulky shoulders and spring at the monster, my blades poised and ready. In mid-air, I swing them in two wide arcs across the beast's throat, causing more blood to spurt out onto the ground. The creature clutches at its ripped carotid for a moment or two, swaying like a scarecrow in the wind, before crashing to the ground and lying in a motionless heap. It stays there for a second before the computer realises it's dead and makes it vanish, giving Bobby and me a little while to catch our breath. Grinning at Bobby, I say "You won't have to protect me, Uncle Bobby. I promise."

Bobby looks a little taken aback by me calling him "Uncle Bobby", but then he recovers slightly and says "Please don't do that again, kid. It ain't good for my heart."

I start to reply, but am cut off as two human-sized enemies appear out of nowhere in front of us. They have skeletal faces, with empty eye sockets and no noses to speak of, but they are armed with two very sharp, machete-sized blades, one in each hand, which they use with deft precision as they close in on Bobby and me. The lead one picks Bobby, while his companion chooses me. As the leader aims a vicious chopping strike at Bobby's shoulder, Bobby uses his enlarged, toughened forearm to parry the blow, sending brittle chips of ice everywhere. "Ow!" he says, sounding more annoyed than hurt, before aiming a couple of precise blasts of ice at the creature's legs in order to freeze its feet to the floor. He moves in then, using his large ice-fists to hammer his enemy into submission, striking at the base of the monster's long jaw and knocking it out cold.

Meanwhile, the one that chose me is trying to impress me with its display of swordsmanship, the blade in its hands cutting through the air with a quiet humming sound. It clangs off my crossed sai blades, sending sparks flying, and tries to knock me off balance with a quick, exploratory kick to the midsection – which is a big mistake. Spinning out of the way like a dancer, I drop to one knee and jam one of my blades into the creature's leg, just below its own knee. It folds like a concertina, making the monster fall into a crumpled heap to my left. Before it can move again, I spring at it and push both blades right into the centre of its chest area, rendering it totally unable to fight back. It vanishes at almost the same moment as the other creature, allowing Bobby and me another moment to gather our thoughts together.

It's at that moment that, instead of producing anything else to attack us, the Danger Room begins to shut down. Turning angrily towards the observation booth as it appears from behind the holographic jungle foliage, I can see a woman with dreadlocks pushing some of the key buttons on the main control console. "Time out, kids," comes the voice of Dr Cecilia Reyes through the room's hidden speakers. "Could you two come up to the booth, please?"

When we have exited the Danger Room itself and made our way up to the observation area, we find Dr Reyes standing with her arms folded across her chest, her right eyebrow raised slightly over the slender rim of her glasses. She is dressed in a Tina Turner t-shirt and blue jeans, which I'd seen her wearing last night (which in turn means that she spent the night with Kurt – a rare occurrence in itself, considering she works nights a lot at her practice). When we're close enough, she says sourly "You two mind telling me what you were doing in there?"

"Well, I  _thought_  we were working out," I say, a note of defiance in my voice. "Isn't that what you thought, Bobby?"

Bobby nods, even though he knows it'll probably get him in trouble. "Yeah, that sounds right to me," he agrees. "Why'd you call us up here, Doc?"

Cecilia sighs. "Hank sent me. He wanted Rebecca to check in for a morning medical." She notices me opening my mouth to reply, and she holds up a finger to silence me before the words can even fully form in my throat. "Don't ask me why, Rebecca _–_ Hank knows better than to betray doctor-patient confidentiality. Although if he's asking for you to attend a medical this early, I doubt he'd be happy knowing you're in here putting your health at risk, you know?"

"I… suppose not," I concede, annoyed, before I walk over to the intercom in the corner of the room and punch the "activate" button. "Hank?" I ask tentatively. "It's Rebecca. Did you want to see me?"

It takes a few moments for Hank to reply, and when he does, he sounds even more annoyed than Cecilia. "Yes, I did. I'm disappointed you felt the need to use the Danger Room in your condition," he begins, almost sounding more like Dad than Dad, "and I'm especially disappointed with Bobby for not locking you out of that room himself." Behind me, I can hear Bobby slapping his forehead with one hand, as if he had expected that ever since he'd started the exercise programme with me. Hank speaks again then, this time to Cecilia. "Dr Reyes, would you be so kind as to accompany Rebecca down to the med-lab? I feel I need a second opinion on this matter."

Cecilia shrugs her shoulders and looks at the ceiling for a second or two. "What am I, your personal sidekick now?" she snaps, before sighing and rubbing her temples with her hands. "All right, blue boy, I'll be there right away." She snaps her fingers and points at me impatiently. "What are you waiting for, Blondie – permission? Get your ass in gear!"

* * *

 

The med-lab is chilly, since Hank had apparently turned the heating down for one of his experiments. I can feel the air conditioning circulating cold air against my legs, and it doesn't feel very nice. Worse than that, though, is the expression on Hank's face as he sees me coming through the door. It's a far cry from his usual cheerful smile, and it doesn't really fill me with any kind of confidence (although I guess it's not really supposed to). For a moment, he stands with one hand planted on his hip and another touching his chin, before he drops them both to his sides and says, exasperated, "What were you  _thinking_ , Rebecca? Do you know how dangerous what you were doing could have been?" He takes off his glasses then, and touches the thumb and index finger of his right hand to the bridge of his nose, before putting his glasses back on and looking up at me again. "I must reiterate that I'm very disappointed with you, especially considering your… personal circumstances." Then he turns his gaze towards Cecilia, and unfolds his hands towards me at the same time. "Dr Reyes, could I ask you for a second opinion on this matter? You are, after all, a more qualified medical doctor than me, and I would welcome your input."

Cecilia shrugs. "Sure, you can ask, but I don't think you'll get a good opinion unless I know just exactly what the hell is going on here."

Nodding towards me, Hank says "Why don't you tell her why you shouldn't have been in the Danger Room, Rebecca?"

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, I bite my lip and try not to let the realisation that what I'm about to say will bring a tonne of ethical bricks down on my head in less than a split-second. "I'm… I'm almost two months' pregnant," I say, nervously.

Predictably enough, that doesn't go down too well with Cecilia, who curses in Spanish and then steps closer to me so that she can lock her gaze with mine. "You're lucky I don't hit pregnant women," she says softly, her gaze feeling like that of a cobra getting ready to strike, "because I am  _really_  finding it hard not to do that right now. God, girl… you're supposed to be an intelligent woman – you should have  _known_  what you were doing was stupid!"

"I was doing  _fine_ ," I say, already knowing I'm fighting a hopeless cause. "I could have handled it. There shouldn't have been any problems." Cecilia shakes her head and puts both hands on my shoulders.

"Kid, don't take this the wrong way," she says, "but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. It ain't exactly rocket science to work out that if you put yourself at risk like that enough times, something bad  _will_  happen. Like I said, you're supposed to be a smart girl – don't make me think Kurt was lying about that." She pauses. "You want my advice? Stay out of that room for the next seven months, and take up yoga or Pilates or something. It's safer, and you won't end up having a miscarriage. Isn't that right, Hank?"

Hank nods. "Yes, I'd say so. Look, Rebecca, you're caring for two people now, and while I'm sure you don't have any qualms about possibly breaking your neck in the pursuit of a good workout, I'd hate for that attitude to lead to you losing your unborn child. For one thing, I'd hate to see you unhappy, and for another, I don't want to waste this present I got your child." He turns away from me for a moment and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling out a small cuddly toy that looks like Nightcrawler. "His name is Bamf," Hank explains, "and he likes to be hugged a lot. It's his favourite hobby." He hands the toy to me and smiles. "Go ahead – give it a try."

The little doll feels surprisingly soft in my hands, his neatly-woven smile beaming up at me from his fuzzy blue face, so I give him a short, uncertain cuddle – and Hank is right: the doll seems to hug me back gently as I do so. "Thank you, Hank," I say softly, my hands stroking the curly locks of blue fur on the doll's forehead. "It's lovely."

"My pleasure," Hank says. "Cecilia, would you like to hold him as well? He seems to have a great way of diffusing uncomfortable situations."

Cecilia rolls her eyes. "Man, this place is as insane as it was when I left…"


	4. Welcome To The Jungle

Manhattan is quiet on this Wednesday morning, with only a few people walking the streets, going about their daily business with the usual kind of resigned boredom that routine creates (and I should know –the exercise programme Hank has designed for me is about as exciting as one of Bobby's comedy routines). Jean and I are sat at the window of a coffee shop, eating pastries and having a quiet coffee. Jean has a copy of the latest issue of  _Newsweek_  on her lap _,_  and has it thumbed open at a particular story she's interested in, but she hasn't dipped her head to look at it once, instead keeping her eyes on me almost all the time. I suppose I should have expected that – now I've just started my second trimester, all of the team (apart from Bishop, I guess… but then again, he hated Mum's pregnancy, so that's nothing new) are both excited and concerned about me – but Jean and Scott are especially worried. This  _is_ effectively Scott's first grandchild, after all, so I suppose it's understandable that they'd be inclined to look out for me just as much as Mum and Dad have been – although they haven't been busy buying me a whole wardrobe's worth of baby clothes, just because they thought it would be a good idea. For that, I'm going to be forever grateful.

Putting her magazine aside, Jean sets her coffee cup down onto the glass table in front of our seat, and says "So this is all that Hank's letting me do for you, huh?"

"It seems that way," I say, stretching a little and feeling the muscles in my back protest quietly. "He's very protective of me. Couldn't you tell?"

Jean laughs. "Oh, that's Hank all right. He's very fond of you, you know."

"Yes, he is," I agree, sipping some of my own coffee and eating some more of my apricot pastry. "I still don't think he should have used that as an excuse to stop me from playing softball, though."

"Well, you know, Rebecca… softball can be a very violent sport," Jean chuckles. "You haven't seen Scott and Alex play each other, have you? It's not very pretty."

That surprises me, just a little. "Really? What do they do?"

"Oh, you don't want to know, Rebecca," Jean says. "Just think of a couple of angry two-year-olds in men's bodies, and you'll have some idea of how the two of them act." She laughs. "After seeing that, I can understand why Hank wanted to keep you as far away from a softball bat as he could." Then she takes a sip of her coffee and sits forward, her eyes almost lighting up as she does so. "So anyway… how's the baby?"

"Fine, I suppose," I begin quietly, one hand brushing my stomach absently. "I haven't had any real problems for a while now, actually – it's been pretty cool not to have to worry about anything. I mean, aside from morning sickness and all the other little problems. I'm really not looking forward to later on. Swollen ankles and backache really don't sound like being all that much fun, you know?" I take a bite out of my Danish pastry, enjoying the rich flavour of the apricot filling, and then continue "Sam's been really great, though – I don't think I could have got through this without him."

Jean smiles, and nods appreciatively. "I'm not surprised. Sam's a good guy, Rebecca – I couldn't think of anybody else I'd want to be the father of your baby." She pauses, before a mischievous expression crosses her face for a second or two, and she says "Well, except Brad Pitt, but I think he's busy right now, don't you?"

I make a face. "Brad Pitt? No thanks – he's  _far_  too pretty for me. I prefer guys who don't wax their face three times a day. Russell Crowe, on the other hand… now  _there's_  a man I could definitely snuggle up to."

"Why, Rebecca Braddock… I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it from your own lips," Jean says, putting a hand to her chest as if she's been shocked out of her seat. "They grow up so fast…" She chuckles. "What would Sam say if he knew?"

"Sam? Oh, he knows. He guessed it when we watched  _Gladiator_ , I think. He kept asking me to call him Maximus for the rest of the evening."

"And did you?" Jean asks, leaning forward in her seat with a gleam of interest shining in her eyes.

"No, Jean, I didn't. I didn't want him to start thinking he could go around in a toga and sandals. As nice as that visual is, I didn't really want him doing it right in front of me."

"Well, I can understand that, I guess," Jean says, raising her eyebrows a little. "But I bet Sam has a great pair of legs… wouldn't you want him to show them off?"

I'm taking a sip of my coffee just then, and it takes a really big effort for me not to snort it out of my nose. Coughing a little while I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin, I blink some tears out of my eyes and give Jean a disbelieving look (well, as much as I can with most of my coffee having gone down the wrong way). "Does Scott know you think about things like that?"

"Of course he does. We've got a psychic rapport, remember?" Jean laughs dirtily then, which seems totally at odds with how I've got to know her so far. "Don't think he hasn't taken advantage of it at least once."

I can feel myself going green. "Jean… that's  _way_ too much information."

"Sorry, sweetie," Jean replies, sounding apologetic almost instantly. "Guess I won't tell you about the time he tied me up and spanked me like the bad,  _bad_ girl I am, then…"

I hit her with a cushion then, knocking her Danish into her lap and spraying sticky crumbs everywhere, and she shuts up. "Don't you  _ever_ put images like that in my head again – or I swear I'll charge the therapy bills to you and Scott's Platinum card…"

Jean doesn't reply, instead holding up her hand and tilting her head a little, as if she's listening to a sound only she can hear. "Odd…" she says absently. "Can you feel that, honey?" She gestures to her left with one outstretched hand, and tips her head to the side again, as if she's trying to make certain of what she's sensing. Closing my eyes, I reach out with my mind, trying to pick up on what she's obviously had pushed into her brain. Jean's powers are far more finely-tuned than mine, simply because she's had so much more practice, so it's no surprise that she can sense things far more quickly than I can. It only takes a moment, though, before I find what she's trying to point out to me. It's a small, simple mind, surrounded by a massively powerful confidence in its own destructive abilities.

"Is that… the Hulk?" I whisper, a little awed. Jean shakes her head.

"No," she says. "The Hulk's mind feels a lot less… nasty. This is different, somehow." She pauses, gathering her handbag and purse and throwing a few coins and a ten-dollar bill into the plate our waitress left us. "We'd better get going, sweetie – I don't want to put you or the baby in danger." She pushes open the coffee house's door, letting the fresh morning air flow gently into the entrance as she does so, and then steps out into the street, looking around carefully to see if whatever we both can sense is any closer than it should be. Suddenly, the pavement erupts upwards, boiling like a geyser about five hundred metres away from us, and a huge grey shape leaps high into the air, shaking the ground as it lands – so much so that I almost fall flat on my face. The shape turns in our direction, and as it does, I can see that it has fat bags of money clutched in each hand, and it has two blunt horns on its brow. Even from here, I can see that its eyes are filled with a stinging anger, and it looks ready to tear a hole in whatever gets in its way. Jean sees the creature at the same time I do, and she tightens her grip on my hand. "Damn it," she mutters, one of her fists clenching tightly. "That's the Rhino. We need to get out of here, quickly." She grabs my hand quickly, and starts leading me away from the monster down the street. Pulling my hand out of her grip, I shake my head.

"Wait, Jean," I say, trying to sound as resolute as I can. "Surely we should try to do something to stop that thing? I mean, we're the only –"

"Absolutely not," Jean snaps, shaking her head twice rapidly. "You're four months pregnant, Rebecca. Don't be stupid." Behind us, the monster starts to charge down the street, the ground shaking gently with its every footstep. I can feel its thoughts collecting into one thick, solid sludge as it surges closer to us, its brain clanking noisily away behind its eyes. Jean risks a glance back at it, and then hisses "Run."

At this stage in my pregnancy I'm still able to move at something close to a quick pace, so I manage to move down the street pretty fast, pushing past other people who've got the same idea. There isn't a big rush yet – I can even sense that some people are sticking around so that they can get a photo of Spider-Man – but it's still a tight squeeze, even on the wide pavement. I can sense Jean lagging behind me a little, her powers starting to fire up. Apparently she's going to try and hold the Rhino up so that the civilians can get away safely.  _Jean,_  I say, a little worried,  _you're not going to fight that freak by yourself, are you?_

 _Why not?_  Jean asks me bluntly.  _I've eaten worse things than this guy for breakfast._  She clenches her fists and levitates herself off the ground, a pink-purple sheath of energy surrounding her as she does so. She hovers about two metres off the ground, and I can feel her throwing a telekinetic bubble around the Rhino as he runs towards her – making sure to separate him from the bags of money he was carrying. Lifting him off the ground, Jean floats closer to him and holds him still while she starts to talk. "Good morning," she says cheerfully, as the giant in front of her thrashes angrily against the force field surrounding him. "I hope we haven't caught you at a bad time – only I was hoping to ask you a few questions about what you were going to spend all that money on." In response, the Rhino growls something under his breath, and punches the air once or twice as he tries to break Jean's grip – without much success. Jean cocks her head a little, curiously. "I'm sorry," she exclaims, and I can sense a faint smile crossing her lips, "I didn't quite catch that. Did you say something?"

The Rhino gives her a searing glare and snarls "I said I don't believe this is happenin' to me. I ain't ever gonna live this one down." He throws his hands up, exasperated. "Beaten by a dame… this ain't fair…"

"Life's not fair," Jean replies flatly, folding her arms and coming back down to the ground. She turns back towards me and says "Rebecca, honey? Do you know if anyone's called the police yet?"

Walking towards where Jean is standing, I scan the crowd around us quickly, and find that at least ten people have dialled 911 in the last five minutes alone. "Yes – they should be here any minute now," I tell Jean in a hurried tone of voice, feeling my baby kicking a little as I do so. Normally, I'd be really excited about that, but right now I'm too preoccupied with the giant grey beast floating in mid-air in front of me. He looks far worse close-up than he did from a distance, his grey outer hide looking wrinkled and mottled and a thin, jagged line of spittle streaking his chin.

He notices me then, and squints down his nose at me. Even trapped in Jean's force field, he still manages to look threatening, his giant bulk easily making him twice my size and about four times my weight. "What you lookin' at, kid?" he rumbles, still trying to sound scary and powerful, even though he's floating five feet off the ground and can't actually do anything to me.

I shrug, keeping my fear on the inside where he can't see it. It's not the kind of fear that would make me want to turn and run in the opposite direction as fast as I can, but it's not exactly helpful, either. "Oh, nothing… I'm just wondering how Spider-Man doesn't wet himself laughing every time he sees you, that's all."

That does it. The big man thrashes angrily inside Jean's force field, reaching out for me with one giant hand. "Shut up!" he screams, pounding the insides of his prison with his other limbs. Jean doesn't even flinch, instead just mentally strengthening her telekinetic bubble in the blink of an eye. "Don't you laugh at me!"

"Why not?" I say, acidly. "You always manage to get caught by Spider-Man, and now you've got yourself caught by a woman and her pregnant niece. Why shouldn't I laugh at you? You're a loser, Rhino. You're a loser, and that's all you'll ever be. Now go to sleep." A crackling psi-bolt explodes from between my eyes then, and just before it hits, I can see the Rhino's own eyes widening in horror, as he realises just what's going to happen to him next. Then the bolt impacts on the roughened skin above his brow and burrows right into his brain like a diamond-tipped drill, instantly knocking him out cold and making his huge muscular frame go limp in Jean's telekinetic grip. When she sees that she doesn't need to hold him up any longer, Jean walks closer to the floating body of the Rhino, lets his massive body drop gently to the surface of the pavement, and then turns to face me, one eyebrow raised and a thumb aimed at the quietly snoring heap behind her.

"Mind telling me why you knocked him out?" she asks. "I had everything completely under control, you know."

"I know that," I say, "but he was starting to bore me. Besides, isn't he less trouble this way?"

Jean is about to say something then, but before she can do so, a man in skin-tight red and blue spandex lands agilely about five metres away from where the two of us are standing, his wiry body making no noise as it hits the ground. He turns, and I find myself looking into the oversized eye-pieces of Spider-Man's mask. "Ladies," he says politely, saluting us by putting two fingers to his brow. "Looks like you two saved me a job, doesn't it? That's what I get for using public transport, I guess…" He tilts his head then as he sees my pregnant belly. "Say," he says thoughtfully, "if you can do that to the Rhino in your condition, I hope your kid's father knows what he's getting himself into." Turning towards the Rhino's muscular bulk, Spider-Man sprays a thick layer of webbing over the gently-rising torso and makes sure to do the same to the huge hands and feet. "Just a precaution," he says when he's finished. "You never know what this guy's going to do next – he's dangerous that way." He pauses, scratching his masked chin. "Of course, he's also dangerous because he's got all the smarts of a cheese sandwich, but that's beside the point. I'll take care of this from here if you like – thanks again. You ladies saved me an awful lot of hard work."

"Don't mention it," Jean replies, looking very flattered as she does so. "Any time you need us, give us a call." She extends her right hand and takes Spider-Man's own spindly, long-fingered right hand in a brief handshake, before walking off with me in tow.

When we're far enough away from Spider-Man so that he can't hear us, I give Jean a questioning look with my right eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "You were _so_  flirting with him," I say, my arms folded across my chest. Jean rolls her eyes.

"I was  _not_  flirting with him – I'm a happily married woman. Besides, I don't even know the man outside of the times we've fought bad guys together; why would I flirt with him?"

I purse my lips. "Oh, come  _on_ , Jean – 'any time you need us, give us a call'? You might as well have given him your phone number and told him you weren't wearing any underwear…"

"I'm not," Jean replies, and grins as I gawp stupidly at her, completely shocked into silence. "Gotcha." She paints an invisible line in the air with one fingertip, and continues "Score one for me, don't you think?" Then she glances briefly at her watch, raising her eyebrows and thumbing towards the spot down the street where we'd parked. "It's nearly mid-day – Hank will be wondering where you got to. Better not disappoint him, right?"

And as she walks away down the street, I'm left to wonder just how much else of Jean Grey I've still not seen so far….

* * *

 

I knock on the door of the med-lab and find Hank hunched over a microscope, examining some kind of sample he's cut from somewhere. As I enter the lab, he turns and waves to me, smoothing out his pure white lab coat and sticking some pens back into its top pocket as he skirts round the lab's central table so that he can come and greet me. "Good afternoon, Rebecca," he says cheerfully, a broad smile falling across his face. "How are you today?"

"Fine, I guess," I reply, walking over to the chair where Hank usually conducts his examinations and hopping up into its red leather seat. "Just a bit confused about something."

"Confused?" Hank looks intrigued. "Whatever about?"

"Aunt Jean," I say simply. "What's she like with you?"

Hank raises both eyebrows, as if he's trying to think of something appropriate to respond with (which for Hank is pretty unusual). "Jean is… Jean is… well, I suppose I would say that Jean is everything good about life given human form." He shrugs. "But then again, I guess I'm obligated to say that, because she's one of my oldest friends. Jean has one of the sharpest senses of humour I've ever encountered, and one of the most engaging personalities I have ever come across. I liked her the moment I saw her – and not just because I was a teenage boy who hadn't been kissed for months, either. She's just… a really lovely person. Why do you ask?"

"Oh… she was telling me how Scott likes to spank her this morning, that's all," I tell him. Strangely, Hank doesn't even flinch.

"That old chestnut, hmm?" he says, picking up his medical scanner. "We all heard that one years ago, Rebecca. Don't worry – it doesn't get any worse than that unless Jean's  _really_  feeling naughty."

"You mean like 'no-underwear' naughty?" I ask, bluntly. "She said she wasn't wearing any this morning. I mean, she said it like it was a joke, but I wasn't about to check –"

"You didn't know Jean likes to go commando?" Hank says, sounding surprised for the first time. "It's not like she doesn't advertise it enough…" Then he winks at me as I feel my jaw dropping open stupidly. "Relax, Rebecca. You have to learn to take Jean's sense of humour as it comes. She might look like an all-American apple-pie sort of girl, but she likes jokes that could make a sailor blush. Must be why Logan likes her so much, I suppose…" He chuckles. "Besides, you saw her table-dancing in nothing but her underwear at Warren's birthday party. Surely that should have given you a clue as to what kind of girl she really is?"

I shrug. "Well, I guess so… but she was drunk then. I thought that was supposed to count for something?"

Hank's grin widens. "My dear girl, alcohol merely removes the inhibitions we ourselves put on our own behaviour while sober. I'm sure if Jean hadn't been drunk, she'd have stopped short of dancing the Macarena in her bra and panties, but after all that peach schnapps, she just couldn't help herself. Besides, I don't think she really  _minded_  all the adulation she received for the whole of the following week… or the numerous bunches of flowers she kept getting from the male members of the team. Although I do recall that she slapped Bobby for asking her to 'shake her money-maker' in his face like she did before… not hard, mind you, but just firmly enough to let him know there was no chance of that ever happening again."

"Oh my," I say, unable to believe what I'm hearing. "Guess I have a lot to learn about Aunt Jean, don't I?"

"You certainly do, Rebecca," Hank laughs. "Now then, how about we start that check-up? Your baby won't wait forever, you know…"


	5. Sweet Child O' Mine

Sam and I are in the mansion's garden, lying on the grass and looking up at the sky together. I suppose you could say we're enjoying one of the last few precious moments of peace and quiet we're likely to get (when the baby comes, we'll never get anything like that again, so I guess it's best that we make the most of what we've got now…), but we're also just taking the time to enjoy each other's company and talk about other things besides the child growing inside me. Sam has just finished telling me about the ball game that he and the rest of the male X-Men attended earlier that afternoon, and how it all went right down to the ninth innings (and I managed to look interested for the whole time he was doing it, too, even though baseball bores me to tears), and I've just told him about the fight Jean and I had with the Rhino, only a little while ago. It's been a busy few days for the team, so he didn't get to come home until now – and I've really enjoyed telling him about how I managed to make the Rhino pass out with only a medium-strength psi-bolt. And to Sam's credit, he managed to stay at least a little bit interested as well, even though he must have heard hundreds of similar stories about Aunt Jean. He kisses me on the forehead and says "So you and Jean had a good time in Manhattan, huh?"

"Yup," I reply, stretching a little in his arms and feeling my ever-expanding bump rub against his belly a little. "I even got to meet Spider-Man as well." Sam raises his eyebrows.

"No kidding?" he says. "Damn, you really  _did_  have a good day. If that'd been me, I'd have gotten to meet the Steel Spider, but you get the real deal. I hope you got his autograph, girl – you could clean up on eBay, you know."

I laugh. "Sorry, Sam. I couldn't get his autograph – I forgot to ask him. I think I was too busy watching Aunt Jean flirt with him to find a pen."

"Jean flirted with Spider-Man?" Sam raises an eyebrow, sounding a little sceptical. "You sure she wasn't just being friendly?"

"Sam, trust me. The only way she could have been friendlier is if she'd flashed the guy." I yawn, feeling the heat of the sun sucking the energy from my bones, and then say "Besides, what's not to like about a guy in head-to-toe spandex and a mask? 'Mysterious' equals 'sexy', Sam." I chuckle then, as a related thought suddenly strikes me. "Why do you think so many women go for Uncle Logan?"

"Pheromones," Sam fires back instantly. "It's the only explanation, honey. The guy's short, hairy an' ugly as sin – an' he's got a mouth like a sailor, too. How that makes him such a chick magnet, I'll never know." He pauses. "An' anyway, why would you need him when you've got me?"

"Modest, aren't we?" I deadpan. "Don't build yourself up too much, Samuel Guthrie – you're not all that, no matter how much you might think you are." Sam laughs, and knocks gently on my forehead.

"Hi, Mom," he says. "Nice of you to disguise yourself as my girlfriend."

I purse my lips. "Wow – you're  _so_  funny, Sam. I don't know why Bobby hasn't taken comedy lessons from you yet."

"Because he's too dumb to realise he needs help," Sam replies, with a smile. Then, his face takes on a more serious look (and at the same time, the colour of his thoughts turns a lot darker, which doesn't exactly put me at my ease), and he says "Um… look, Bec, I've been doing a little thinkin' about what we're gonna do when the baby comes, and I, uh… I was gonna ask you if you'd… um… you'd like to marry me."

Instantly, I feel like I've been gut-shot. All I can manage to say is "Seriously?" Sam nods, and grips my right hand a little tighter as he does so.

"Seriously," he echoes softly. "I want us to be a proper family – an' I want you and the baby to be properly provided for if somethin' happens to me." I begin to open my mouth, but Sam puts a finger to my lips. "I hope it won't, but I just want everythin' to be covered, you know? I ain't exactly workin' a desk job in the city, am I?"

"I suppose not," I say, arching my eyebrows briefly, "but you don't have to worry about that – Mum and Dad would keep me and the baby safe if anything happened to you. You don't have to worry about that."

"Yes, I do." Sam sits up, pulling himself away from me and rubbing at his eyes at the same time. "Look, I don't want your mom and dad to have to do what I should be doin'. You an' the baby are my responsibility, Rebecca. I – I want to take care of you."

"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, Sam," I retort, getting annoyed for the first time. "I'm not a little girl who needs people to hold her hand all the time. Having a baby to look after won't turn me into an idiot, you know."

Sam rubs his hands over his face, frustrated at the direction that this discussion has gone in. "I know that, Bec, but look at it from my point of view. I grew up lookin' after my family all by myself. My daddy died and I had to be the guy who put bread on the table for my little brothers and sisters. It ain't easy to just… throw that kind of thinkin' away just because you got a cushy allowance from a bald rich guy, you know?"

Pushing myself into a sitting position (with more than a little difficulty, seeing as how I've developed a considerably lower centre of gravity recently), I lock my gaze with Sam's so that I can make sure he doesn't miss anything I'm saying. "I know, Sam, but… marriage is a big step, don't you think? 'Till death do us part' – isn't that how it goes?"

"That's how it goes, yeah," Sam agrees, nodding, "but ain't havin' a kid the same thing? Ain't that a lifetime commitment, too?"

"Having a baby together shouldn't be the only reason you want us to get married, Sam," I tell him, making sure to let him know that I'm not playing games on this. "Do you love me?"

"You're the telepath, Bec," Sam says simply. "You know I love you – I always have, ever since the first moment I saw you. I want the best for you and the baby, that's all."

Something approaching relief pulls one corner of my mouth up in a hesitant smile. "Then that's all I needed to hear." I pause, and then say softly "Yes."

Sam's face breaks out in a wide grin. "Then you'll –"

"Yes, Sam, I'll marry you," I tell him, before holding up a hand to make sure he listens to what I have to say next, "on one condition: that you let me take as big a part in this as you. I don't want to be your sidekick; I want to be your partner. I'm not going to be your Girl Wonder for the rest of my life, do you understand?"

Sam holds his hands up, still unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face. "Okay, okay – I understand; I'll treat you as my complete equal… as long as you promise to wear tights and a cape on our wedding night."

I purse my lips. "Don't push your luck, flyboy," I tell him, pushing his face to one side as he leans in for a quick kiss. "The only way I'd dress up like the Scarlet Witch is if you paid me." I can sense Sam coming up with a snappy retort, so I cut him off by finishing "With real money." Then, I smile, stroking Sam's cheek with the back of my right hand, letting my fingers play gently across the soft skin of his face. "So, Sam… you want to help your future wife decide on some possible baby names?"

Sam nods thoughtfully, and replies "Sure. I think that'd be a great idea."

* * *

 

Later that day, Mum and I are sat in the mansion's rec. room, drinking blackcurrant tea and watching Tom crawling around on the large, soft rug that covers most of the polished floorboards. "He's getting bigger all the time, isn't he, Mum?" I say as I watch my little brother pushing himself along in a determined kind of way. "How's his walking going?"

"Well, he tried to stand up again a few days ago," Mum replies, watching him with a careful, but very loving eye. "He fell right onto his backside when he did, and cried for Mummy until I picked him up and hugged him." She sighs. "Still, that hasn't stopped him from trying again – has it, sweetheart?" She waves delicately to Tom as he plays with the wooden building blocks Uncle Logan carved for him, and claps her hands as he waves back with one chubby blue paw, chewing thoughtfully on a block he's holding with the other. "He's getting there, put it that way – Hank says it shouldn't be too much longer before we have to put him on a leash." Then Mum leans forward, putting her teacup on the glass-topped table in front of her, and turns to face me more fully while still keeping enough of an eye on Tom to make herself comfortable. "So… what about you and Sam? I saw the two of you earlier today, and it looked like you were having a fairly intense discussion." She holds up a hand to silence the remark she can obviously see building in my throat. "And before you ask, Rebecca, I didn't use my powers to listen in. I think I trust you enough not to eavesdrop on your every move. If you don't want to discuss it with me, then I'm perfectly willing to respect your decision." She looks hopeful for a second, and says "Do you want to discuss it with me?"

I take a deep breath, and decide to launch straight into what I have to say, without trying to pad it out unnecessarily. "Sam asked me to marry him today."

Mum covers her mouth with her hands for a moment, looking as shocked and surprised as it's possible for a telepath to get. "And what did you say?" she asks, looking up at me through her eyebrows.

"I said yes," I tell her – and before I can say anything else, Mum has clasped me to her tightly, kissing me on the forehead as she does so.

"Congratulations, button," she says softly as she rests her chin on my shoulder. "Sam is a lovely boy – you made a good choice."

"Did I?" I say, suddenly feeling very unsure about the whole deal. "What did you feel when Dad asked you to marry him?"

Mum sits back in her seat and takes a small measure of tea from her cup, pursing her lips and mulling the question over in her mind for a moment or two. "I felt scared for a little while, just like you are now," she says quietly. "I felt as if I'd had my entire life laid out for me by somebody else, and I didn't like that feeling one bit. I felt as if I'd be betraying my parents' memory because they weren't there to see what I'd become. But then I spoke to your Uncle Brian and Aunt Meggan, and they told me that to deny the love I felt for Warren was a very silly thing to do. You do love Sam, don't you?"

"Yes," I say, feeling echoes of the question I'd asked Sam earlier, and wondering if Mum really did stay out of the discussion as much as she said she did. "I really do. He's wonderful." A much more positive thought suddenly strikes me, lifting my spirits greatly and making me realise that my decision was far wiser than I'm giving myself credit for. "He and I were thinking up some baby names earlier – would you like to hear them?"

Mum smiles. "There you are, button – that proves my point about Sam, don't you think?" She leans forward in her seat, making a definite show of being enthralled by my suggestion. "So come on, button, what were these baby names you were thinking of?"  _Oh God… I'm turning into a right mumsy old cow, aren't I?_  she sends to me a moment or two after she's spoken.  _God knows I'd never have been as interested as this before you turned up. It's all your fault, button._

 _You're not an old cow,_  I reply psionically, just to placate her.  _Well, you're not_ old _, anyway. Credit where credit's due, I guess..._

Mum makes a face and sticks her tongue out at me. "Thank you, button – you always know exactly what to say to make me feel  _so_  much better, don't you?" She pauses, smiling. "So… baby names. Don't make me have to go in there and find them for myself, all right?"

I pick up my teacup and drink some of the rich liquid contained inside it, and then put it back down onto the coffee table before saying "Well, Sam and I were only suggesting names to each other, but we did manage to come up with a few nice ones we could both agree on – we thought that if the baby's a boy we could call him Luke, John, or Harry, and if it's a girl, we decided on Hannah, Mary, or Caroline. What do you think?"

Mum nods silently, turning the six names over in her mind for a moment or two before she replies "I think they're all very nice names. Any particular reason you chose those names specifically?"

"Not really," I say, honestly. "I think we just liked the sound of them, that's all." Pausing, I manage to dredge up some additional information about the discussion Sam and I had earlier. "Well, actually, I think I remember Sam telling me that his grandmother was called Mary, and that he liked John Wayne movies. As far as the others go… I really couldn't tell you why we picked them."

Mum chuckles. "Are you sure you weren't being influenced by somebody else? I distinctly remember that happening to your father and me when we were choosing names for Tom…" That makes me flush a little, my cheeks prickling with a slight heat.

"Oh, you're a riot, Mum," I say, batting at her with the back of one hand. "You weren't really trying to give us ideas, were you?" Mum shakes her head earnestly and pats me on the hand, slipping her fingers into mine so that she can hold them tightly.

"Button, I can honestly say that I did not put any ideas in your head that weren't there in the first place." She pauses, and then a small, wicked little smile crosses her lips for a second or two. "Well, I did plant a love for scandalously short miniskirts and high heels in the back of your mind, but other than that…I'm completely innocent, your honour." With that, she slides slowly off the chair in order to pick Tom up and sit him on her lap. He wails a bit at being taken away from his building blocks, but once Mum's given him the teddy bear that was sat on the sofa next to her, he's quiet again, busily putting the bear's already soggy ear into his mouth while Mum resumes her spot on the sofa.

"Really." I purse my lips. "I think I'll take that under advisement, Mum." Then I lean forwards and catch Tom's attention by touching the tip of my nose with my tongue and crossing my eyes at the same time. He laughs loudly, and points at me in pure, innocent excitement. Mum smiles at that, and nods appreciatively.

"You're going to be a really wonderful mother, Rebecca," she says, before she kisses Tom on the top of his head and tickles him under his arms. "Getting Tom's approval is pretty difficult, after all – and I should know, I've tried it often enough."

Just then, Dad comes into the rec. room, clad in his best work suit and clutching his red leather briefcase in his right hand. He waves to Mum and me as he comes through the doorframe, before he walks over to where we're both sitting and kisses Mum hello gently – and then gets his tie yanked on by his son's pudgy blue hand. Somehow he manages to rescue it without being throttled, and then kneels down to Tom's eye level. "Hey, slugger!" he says, sounding as delighted as I can sense he feels, despite the knot of his tie being tightened almost to the point of restricting the flow of blood to his head. "How's Daddy's favourite boy?" Tom squeals with laughter at that, and cracks the biggest smile I've seen from him today as he holds out his arms for Dad to take him. Dad gently picks him up and gives him a hug, kissing him softly on the forehead before he sits down on the sofa next to Mum and lets Tom play with his teddy bear again. Seeing the ease with which Dad managed to get Tom so pleased makes me look at Mum with a suspicious arched eyebrow.

"So getting Tom's approval is pretty difficult, huh?" I ask her, my arms folded across my chest. "If Dad can do it, Mum, I think anybody can."

Mum shakes her head. "Well, that's not quite true, button – your Uncle Logan finds it very difficult, after all. And besides, your father does have a habit of being very lucky, very often. Just ask his stockbroker…"

"Hey, is it too much to believe that my son loves me and likes my company?" Dad shoots back. "I swear, you two treat me like I'm a complete chump sometimes."

"Of course we do, dear," Mum smiles, patting Dad on the cheek as if she is consoling him about the loss of a chocolate bar. "You're a man – it's hardwired into you."

"Keep this up, Betts, and I might just take my toys and go home," Dad retorts, before he leans down and stage-whispers into Tom's ear "Don't worry, kid, I promise I'll take you with me. We'll be free to eat Twinkies and play  _Tekken_  all day long… it'll be great."

"Men," Mum laughs, rolling her eyes. "Tell you what, Rebecca, I hope you don't let Sam turn out like this."  _Do you want to tell him, or can I?_  she asks me telepathically.

 _I'll do it, Mum,_ I reply. _Thanks for asking first, though._  Then, aloud, I say "Um… Dad? I have some news about Sam and me." Dad raises his eyebrows, and looks more fully in my direction than he had been before. On his lap, Tom still plays with his bear, completely oblivious, but Dad now has my full attention.

"Are you two okay?" he asks, suddenly sounding very concerned. "Is the baby fine? I –"

"Yes, and yes," I say, putting those fears to rest right away. "We're all completely fine, Dad, so don't worry. Sam just… well, he asked me to marry him today."

Dad's face splits into the biggest smile I've ever seen him crack in my entire life (which isn't really saying all that much, I know, but it's still true), and he quickly trades Tom to Mum so that he can hug me tightly. "Wow," he says, sounding completely awestruck. "I, uh… oh, what the hell – congratulations, kid. You made a good choice." He plants a gentle kiss on my forehead then, and hugs me a little more firmly. "And so did he – you make sure Sam knows exactly how lucky he is every day, all right?"

I roll my eyes. "Thanks, Dad. I can always count on you to give me unnecessary praise, can't I?"

"Of course. A dad's gotta do what a dad's gotta do," Warren says, before he opens his wallet and continues "So do you want me to pay for the wedding, or not?"

"Would you, Dad?" I say adoringly, fluttering my eyelashes. "It'll be so much  _easier_  if you can pay for the ice sculpture, the clowns and the banjo quartet, don't you think?"

Dad raises an eyebrow. "I might be willing to pay for a lot, but don't push your luck, kid…"


	6. Daddy Knows Best... Sort Of

Dad and I are out in New York together, spending the afternoon as father and daughter, and not as Rebecca Braddock, artificially-aged test-tube baby, and Warren Worthington, super-hero and billionaire CEO. It's a rare treat for both of us, because it means we can just forget about everything for a few hours and just have some fun being with each other. At the moment, we're sitting in Central Park and watching the world go by – and I'm trying my hardest to ignore the fact that my baby is making my back ache like nobody's business. Dad notices my discomfort after a moment or two, and says "Hey, firecracker, you okay in there?"

I nod. "Yeah, Dad, I'm fine – it's just the baby's got so big, it's pushing on everything and making it really painful to move." Dad nods in response, a knowing expression crossing his blue features.

"Oh. I see," he says simply. "You know, when Betsy got to this point with Tom, I really had to wonder when she was going to hit somebody for asking if she was okay. You're… not going to do that, are you?"

Laughing, all my pain forgotten for a moment, I shake my head. "No, Dad, you'll be okay – Mum would really kill me if you came home with a black eye that I'd given you. I think we both don't want that happening, don't you?"

"I guess not," Dad replies, rubbing his chin as if he's deep in thought all of a sudden. "Can't have anybody ruining these perfect looks, after all."

"Dad," I say, one eyebrow raised pointedly. "Shut up."

"Ah. You're into that 'losing your sense of humour' stage as well, I see," Dad says, winking. "Well, okay, sweetheart: if it'll make you happy, I won't say another word." He pauses for a moment, and then gestures with his thumb towards a brightly-painted carousel that is set up only a couple of hundred feet away. "Hey, you want a ride on that?" he asks me, his eyes lighting up like two bright beacons as he spots its brightly-painted roof and wooden horses. I think I can guess why he wants me to have a ride on it… "I'm sure I've got some spare money somewhere." Pulling his wallet out of one of his jacket pockets, he waves a ten-dollar bill in front of my eyes like it's a worm on a hook, and I'm a fish waiting to be caught. It's a good plan, too, because it makes me smile right away, and try to push myself into a more comfortable sitting position so that I can stand up more easily. Dad sees me moving and jumps to his feet, offering me his hand and helping me up as he does so. It's a relief, because I've hated being unable to get to where I want to go as easily as I used to be able to.

"All right, Dad, you win," I say, grasping his wrist and pulling myself up before straightening out my clothes and exhaling deeply. "But you have to do it as well, all right?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me, Rebecca," Dad replies, before he takes my hand in his and leads me over to the carousel, where he pays the owner the full ten dollars and asks that he and I be the only people allowed to use it for the next fifteen minutes. When he's made sure we won't be disturbed, he leads me up the steps to where the horses are stood, and helps me mount a pretty white one that has pink ribbons in its real hair mane, which spills over its porcelain neck in curvy waves. Its blue saddle is lightly padded and the leather stirrups take a little getting used to, but otherwise it feels just right. Dad finds a horse next to me that looks very similar, except its mane has blue ribbons and its body has a slightly larger, thicker build. Pulling himself up into its saddle, Dad makes sure his wings don't get in the way and then nods to the carousel's operator to start the thing up. Tinny organ music starts to echo out from the speakers at the base of the carousel, but Warren gestures to the owner to switch it off almost as soon as it's begun. It's a relief (I really hate cheap-sounding music – especially cheap-sounding music that I didn't ask to be played), but I think I ought to make it look like I'm not happy Dad made that decision for me, just for appearance's sake.

"Did you have to do that, Dad?" I ask him as the carousel starts to rotate, slowly at first but then gaining speed very quickly. "I might have wanted to listen to the music, you know."

"Would you?" Dad asks, sounding a little taken aback. "I thought you hated that kind of music?"

That surprises me – I know it shouldn't, really, but it does. It's nice to know that Dad's taken the time to find out what I do and don't like; it makes him seem more like my real father, somehow. I'm sure Uncle Scott would do those sorts of things too if he'd switched places with Dad, but hearing it coming from Dad's lips makes it sound even better, somehow. "Well, yeah – but you still should have asked first."

Dad rolls his eyes. "I should have known you'd say something like that. You've got too much of your mother in you. No wonder you keep trying to get into the Danger Room when everybody else is asleep…"

If I were able to fold my arms across my chest right now, I would. As it is, all I can do is give Dad a withering glare as my horse moves elegantly up and down, carrying me gently along with it. "I do  _not_  keep doing that!" I say, indignantly. "Who said I did?"

"Hank tells me he spotted you trying to steal the keypad code for the door the other day," Dad replies, urging his horse forwards with his heels out of reflex. "Why would Hank lie to me?"

"I wasn't looking for that," I retort, sheepishly. "I was… I was looking for his stash of Twinkies. I was hungry, and I knew Hank would have something sugary somewhere, but all I found was a couple of Snickers bars and a bag of Skittles. I still ate them all, though." I can feel red heat crawling up my neck, even though there is a cool, gentle air current blowing across my face. "God, I felt like such a pig – and I felt even worse when Hank caught me in the act. I was such a mess…" I can feel Dad trying to stifle a laugh – but he doesn't manage it, and splutters helplessly for a couple of minutes before he can compose himself enough to reply.

"I see," he gasps, "so what you're saying is, Hank told me that because you stole all his candy?"

"That's exactly right," I say, glancing to the sky in quiet desperation. I've often heard people describe the feeling of wanting the ground to open up and swallow them whole, and right now I think I'm feeling it tenfold. It wasn't exactly a very dignified moment, that's for sure – Hank caught me surrounded by wrappers and with a mouthful of Skittles still lying half-chewed in one chocolate-smudged cheek. I'm still not entirely sure why I did it – I just got this weird urge to find something sweet to eat, and I knew Hank would have something like that, so before I knew it, I was there at his desk rummaging through his stuff. Perhaps my baby is a telepath itself, I don't know. I'll have to ask Hank about that at my next check-up, I suppose.

"Okay, Rebecca," Dad tells me, a little more solemnly. "I believe you."

"You… do?" I ask, a bit taken aback even though my telepathy completely backs his words up (That's twice today that Dad's managed that – I must be losing my touch…). "Really?"

"Sure," Dad replies. "Betsy used to get all sorts of weird cravings when she was pregnant with your little brother. She even said she wanted to eat some clay once, as I recall, so don't worry about it."

"When you put it that way, Dad… it's hard for me not to," I say, twisting my lips into a wry smile.

When we have finished with the carousel, Dad and I walk a little way along the path to the east and find an ice-cream vendor. Dad finds his wallet again, but I shake my head and open my purse, pulling out a five-dollar bill. "You paid for the ride, Dad. Let me get this one."

"You sure?" Dad asks, sounding a little concerned. I laugh, and nod assertively.

" _Yes_ , Dad, I'm sure. I think I can manage to buy us both an ice cream, don't you?" I tell him, and then turn towards the vendor to ask for two simple vanilla ice creams with crumbly chocolate fingers poking out of them. Handing one of them to Dad, I pay the vendor and try to put the change I get back into my purse without spilling the rest of my money all over the ground. It's a tough task, and in the end I have to ask Dad to take my ice cream so that I can use both my hands to tip the coins back into a sealed pocket and then put my purse back into my handbag. When I'm completely finished, I take my ice cream back from Dad and lick it gratefully, pulling the chocolate finger out and sucking it free of ice cream before finishing it off in four quick bites.

"Hmm," Dad says thoughtfully, as he swallows a mouthful of his own ice cream. "Needs some strawberry sauce, I think."

I roll my eyes. "Dad… can't you just enjoy it for what it is?"

"Well, sure I can, honey," Dad replies, "but that's no fun, is it?" He slips an arm around me and rubs my shoulder encouragingly. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to say stuff like that again, I promise."

I'm about to reply when I suddenly feel my baby kicking. "It's moving. My baby's moving," I say, awed (even though I've felt it happen before, the whole sensation of feeling my baby kicking still fills me with a sense of wonder. It's nice to feel life as it's supposed to happen, instead of life that's been grown in a test tube), and quickly grasp Dad's free hand with my own, so that I can guide him to where I can feel the movement. "Can you feel it too?"

As Dad feels my baby pushing at my belly with its feet, he opens his mouth to say something, but then he closes it again, and simply smiles broadly before he finally finds the breath to speak. "Sam's a lucky guy," he whispers. "I remember feeling your brother kicking that way before he was born – it was probably the best thing I've ever experienced." One side of his mouth tweaks itself upwards gently. "I'll tell you something, Rebecca – I knew right then that my boy would be kicking field goals before he was five years old."

"I suppose the thought never occurred to you that he might want to play real football?" I say, returning Dad's lopsided smile. Dad shakes his head, taking his hand off my stomach and rubbing his brow with it, looking exasperated.

"I see your mom's got to you about that already," he says. "I suppose if I asked you to come watch the Giants with me this weekend, you'd say no, then?"

"I would," I agree, shrugging sheepishly. "Sorry, Dad."

"Yeah, I thought as much." Dad shrugs, and takes a rueful bite out of his ice cream. "Oh well. Plenty of time to change your mind, I guess – I'll get you to come to a game with me yet."

"Do your worst, Dad," I reply, one eyebrow cocked slightly. "You won't get anywhere, I can tell you that right now."

Instead of saying anything right away, Dad simply leans forward and kisses me on the forehead with a brief, gentle touch of his lips. "Don't worry, honey. I wouldn't dream of making you do anything you don't want to do – but you have to promise me you'll let your old man play catch with your kid. Maybe I can take them to see the Giants instead?"

"You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

Dad grins. "Sorry, kid – it's my duty as a father to pass on the sacred knowledge of football. You just can't argue with destiny."

"Is that right?" I fold my arms and regard Dad with a questioning look. "You know, Mum would probably say that this is just like a man to make sport sound more important than it actually is." I let my face split into a wide grin, soaking up Dad's wounded expression gleefully. "And you know what? I think she'd be absolutely right."

Slapping his forehead with his free hand, Dad looks at the sky for a moment or two, as if he's looking for inspiration from somewhere. "Forgive her, gods of football, for she knows not what she's talking about."

"You're right, Dad, I don't," I tell him, truthfully. "I still don't understand why sports are so important – every time I see Bobby, or Scott, or you, watching baseball or football on the television, it passes me by completely. It's just two teams of guys hitting or kicking a ball from one place to another, and it never seems like there's any point to it, you know?"

Dad shakes his head, his thoughts conveying a sense of hopeless disappointment. "Oh, Rebecca, you have  _so_  much to learn." He leads me over to a park bench and pats the seat beside him. "Let me tell you why team sports are so important…"

* * *

At the end of the day, Sam helps me into bed, tucking our duvet around my feet and kissing me gently on the forehead. "There ya go, darlin'," he says softly. "Hope your dad didn't drag you around too much."

"No, but he did tell me more than I ever wanted to know about why football and baseball are so important," I reply, rubbing my brows tiredly. "Promise me you'll never do that?"

Sam laughs. "Okay, honey, I promise. Never was much of a football fan anyway. I'm a Kentucky boy – all we ever play is hog-tossing."

I can feel my jaw dropping at about three hundred miles an hour. "Please tell me you're joking, Sam," I say, forgetting that my telepathy can tell me that in an instant. Winking, Sam chuckles again, and touches my chin gently with the index finger of one hand.

"Yeah, I'm jokin'," he says, much to my relief. "Most people north of the Mason-Dixon expect us Southerners to do stuff like that anyway – they see movies like  _Deliverance_  and then they all think we're dumbass hillbillies." He pauses. "Nah, I always liked throwin' a football around with 'Berto, Doug and the rest of the New Mutants. Dani was a real good offensive tackle, I can tell you that for nothin' – in fact, I probably still got bruises from our last game, an' that was about two years ago." His smile widens. "Promise me you won't try to do the same thing, okay?"

I sigh. "I promise, Sam."

"Good girl," Sam says, sounding more than a little relieved, before he walks around to his side of our bed and slides himself under the covers gently. "Goodnight, darlin'. See ya in the mornin', okay?" We kiss then, and Sam turns over in order to get a little more comfortable. In a few moments, he's fast asleep, and in a few minutes more, so am I.

* * *

The first sign that something is wrong is an unfamiliar weight on my legs. It wakes me slowly, by degrees, as parts of my brain take longer than others to get back to a conscious state. Trying to sit up and shift over a little to switch on my bedside lamp, I find that I can't move. The weight on my legs is pinning me down, making it impossible for me to go anywhere. Reaching out with my telepathy, I try to see if I can sense anything unfamiliar in the room as Sam snores beside me, completely oblivious. My mind makes contact with something – and bounces painfully off it, like a rubber ball thrown at a brick wall too hard.

Then my bedside lamp is abruptly switched on, causing me to shut my eyes reflexively. When I feel confident enough to open them a little, it's almost like looking into a mirror. A dirty, cracked, crazily-uneven mirror, but a mirror nonetheless.

My clone-sister is looking back at me, grinning devilishly at my obvious expression of surprise. One side of her hair is cropped close to her scalp, and she is dressed in a single-piece black body glove which bristles with bladed weapons – one of which she has drawn and is holding almost casually in her slender right hand. "Hello, big sister," she giggles blackly, tracing the blade briefly along the edge of her own jaw as if it is no more deadly than a feather. When I glance down at Sam's sleeping form for a second or so, her expression darkens visibly, and she shakes her head, the blade whipping out to press against my neck. "Don't," she says, her voice like cold diamond. "Wake him up and you both die. Try and fight me, and you both die."

 _Okay. Looks like I'm going to have to play by her rules._  "What do you want?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and even. I won't give my clone the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me. Since neither of us can apparently read the other's mind, keeping my face clear of any obvious movement is probably the best way of keeping her in the dark about my emotional state.

"What, no small talk?" my clone cackles, clearly sounding like she's enjoying this – and enjoying it far too much, at that. "No chit-chat?" She shifts position slightly, so that she is closer to my face. "Good. I'm here to give you a message, sister, nothing more." She pauses, as if she's expecting me to rise to the bait and ask what that message is. When I don't speak, she twists her face in disappointment, and then presses ahead with what it is she has to say. "All right…if that's the way you want to play it, I'll make this as simple as possible: our father has been watching you ever since He made sure you got yourself pregnant. Consider this fair warning that He can collect on his investment any time He chooses."

"Sinister?" I say, finally stung into speaking by what my clone has said. "What does he want with my baby?"

"Everything," my sister says, gleeful triumph smearing itself across her – my – face. "Both of us belong to Him, sister – just like your child." Her smile widens, oozing vicious triumph like poison from a gland. "If He wants to see the results of His experiment up close, He will. Trust me on that one."

"I won't let him," I say, coldly. "I won't!"

My clone laughs, a raucous, braying sound. "Like you have a choice in the matter, sister." She pauses, and then touches a box at her belt. "I'll see you around, Rebecca." And then she vanishes from my room, air rushing to fill the sudden gap as she teleports back to wherever it is she calls home.

And all of a sudden, despite Sam's presence, I feel about ten times more alone.


	7. Shiver

It's about eight in the morning, and from my position at the door of the kitchen, I can see that Bobby Drake is juggling snowballs and letting them drop one-by-one into the milkshake he is making, and he is singing  _Enter Sandman_  in a very off-key voice. Just then, he notices me, and he smiles and lets the last of his snowballs plop gently into his drink. "Oh, hey, kid," he says, a broad, boyish grin spreading across his handsome features. "Didn't expect you to be up this early." He holds his hand up to one side of his face and whispers "You know, we gotta stop meeting like this. People will talk." I nod, wanting to laugh but not quite managing it.

"I suppose they will," I reply, moving to the cupboard that holds all the cereal and other breakfast food and drawing out a box full of toaster pastries. Picking out some strawberry-flavoured ones, I slip them into the toaster and listlessly push down the lever on its side. Bobby notices my sluggishness, and inclines his head towards me, concerned.

"You okay, sweetie?" he asks, taking hold of my hand. "You can tell your old Uncle Bobby anything you want, you know." Then his lopsided grin reappears. "Well, as long as it doesn't involve anything gross. Then you'd better save it for your mom and dad."

I sigh. "I had the nightmares again. About Sinister."

Bobby's face falls, and he reaches forwards to take hold of my hand. "Oh. You… want to talk about it, maybe?"

"Not really, but if it'll help, I suppose I can make an exception," I say, letting go of Bobby's fingers so that I can move over to the breakfast table. As I do so, I point tiredly to the chair opposite me, my other hand trying hard to support the bulging bump that passes for my belly. "Take a seat – this could take a while, I think."

Bobby shrugs and takes a swig of his homemade milkshake as he sits in the chair I've indicated. "It's okay, Rebecca – I don't have to be anywhere. You take your time, honey."

Sitting down (and feeling the weight taken off my ankles by the chair's four solid wooden legs as I do so), I run my hands through my hair and take a deep breath. It was hard enough to describe the nightmares to Mum and Dad the first time they happened. Now? It's almost impossible to put words to what wakes me in the middle of the night. All I know is that they make me soak my sheets with sweat and snot and urine far more often that I'd like to admit, and I don't like that feeling at all. It makes me feel… it makes me feel weak. Alone. Afraid.

In other words, the same kinds of feelings I had when Mum first took me away from Sinister, and I found out he wouldn't come back for me.

I don't want to go back to the way things were then. I want to stay as I am. I want to stay here.

The nightmares tell me that's not going to happen, and that frightens me so very much.

Bobby inclines his head forwards a little then, seeing I'm drifting off into a world of my own. "Honey?" he asks me hesitantly. "You still want to talk about this?"

Dragged back to something approaching normality, I exhale deeply and nod. "Yes. Sorry, Bobby – I'm just… tired, that's all."

"Understandable, I guess," Bobby says, raising his eyebrows for a moment or two and swigging back some more of his milkshake before he makes a face and gestures to his glass. "Damn it. Sorry, kid, I should have offered to make you one of these. Would you, uh, would you like one? They're real good, even if I do say so myself."

I shake my head, smiling for the first time today. It's a small, weak smile, sure, but it's a start, anyway. "No, thank you. I'd love a glass of orange juice if there's any in the refrigerator, though."

"Coming right up," Bobby says, and finds me some chilled orange juice from the fridge, which he pours into a tall glass and hands to me gently. "There you go, kid." Then his expression turns serious again, and he folds his hands around the uppermost knee of his crossed legs and focuses all of his attention on me again. "You were going to say something, I guess?"

I take a deep breath again, and shakily swallow a mouthful of tangy juice to steady my nerves. It doesn't work. "The dreams I've been having… they frighten me so much, Bobby. They're like the dreams I used to have when I still wanted to be with Sinister, only this time I'm the one the Marauders are after, and they don't stop until they have me cornered. And then Sinister, he… he appears right in front of me, and he cuts me open and takes my child. I'm lying there looking at my guts and ribcage all split open, and he pulls my baby out and turns it into something horrible right in front of me. And the worst thing is… I can't stop it, Bobby. I can't wake up until I've seen him twist my baby into a monster." I look up at Bobby with tears streaking my face. "That's why I think they aren't dreams. I think they're a message. He's coming for me, Bobby – he's coming and nobody's going to stop him from getting what he wants."

Bobby sits silently for a moment, his eyes filling with horror and one hand covering his mouth. I can sense his total shock at what I've just said, and it mixes sourly with my own sorely-felt fear and disgust. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, stunned. "Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph..." He shifts forwards on his stool and puts his arms tightly around me, stroking my hair and pressing my head against his shoulder. "You know we'd never let him do that to you, don't you, Rebecca?" he says quietly, a strange little quaver coming into his words for a second or two. "Your mom and dad would never let that happen to you. Scott and Jean would never let that happen to you. Hank would never let that happen to you. And I'd never let that happen to you, either. We all love you too much to let you or your baby go, kiddo – and I promise you, no low-rent brainiac with a seriously bad sense of fashion and a Vincent Price tan is going to change that." He hugs me a little tighter, just to emphasise his point a little more, and then kisses me gently on the forehead. "You're really special, sweetheart." Then he manages a faint smile. "And besides which, who else is going to help me annoy Bishop when he goes out on school nights?" That tears it. My face, which had been hovering perilously on the verge of a smile of its own, finally breaks into one with that single sentence – and Bobby notices that straight away. "There you go. That's the Rebecca Braddock I'm talking about. You know the  _real_  reason why Bishop doesn't like you? It's because you've got a really cool sense of humour, and he hasn't. You're my girl, Rebecca – you know the value of pie fights and stupid jokes." He winks. "Look… I love you, kid, and if you think I'm going to sit around and watch you rip yourself to bits over this, you don't know me very well." Getting off his stool, he takes me by the hand and says "Come with me – I want to show you something."

I frown. "Where are we going?" Bobby chuckles then, and wags a finger at me as if to scold me for my curiosity.

"Ah-ah-ah," he says. "It's a surprise. Come on – if we don't hurry, it'll be gone soon." He leads me out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the rear doors of the mansion, passing large paintings and some busts of members of the Xavier family. Not for the first time, I wonder how much this must have cost the Professor, and whether even Mum or Dad could afford to keep restocking their house with so many works of art. It's quite hard to think of the Professor as being as rich as he is, actually – but I suppose he must have at least a few pennies in the bank, or he wouldn't be able to keep repairing this house when it gets damaged by all the battles that the X-Men get into. While I'm thinking about that, Bobby has led me to the back door of the mansion, and has turned the key in its lock with a soft, fluid click. "Come on," he says. "It's just outside." When we've made our way outside, he stands behind me and puts his hands over my eyes. "Okay, Rebecca… start walking forwards. I'll tell you when to stop, all right?" As I start walking, I can feel Bobby directing me subtly off to one side. Eventually I can feel thin tree branches brushing against my sleeves and legs, and Bobby takes his hands off my eyes. "You can open your eyes now, Rebecca," he says, and I find myself in the centre of a small copse of trees, staring at a tall oak tree that looks to have been here on the grounds of the mansion for hundreds of years. It's an astonishing sight, but I'm not sure why Bobby's brought me to see it.

"What am I looking at, Bobby?" I ask him, uncertainly. Bobby nods down towards the base of the tree, and points with one finger.

"There," he says, and indicates a small carving in the trunk. It's a love heart containing a short message, which reads  _X-Men forever – S, J, W, H, B_. "See what I'm pointing at?"

"Yes, I see it," I say, bending down as far as I can manage and running my hand down the bark, letting my fingertips pick out the precise texture of the message. "Why are you showing me this now?"

"Because I wanted to reassure you of something," Bobby says as he crouches down beside me. "X-Men don't run out on their own. Scott, Jean, Hank, Warren and I, we all made a pact when we were just kids – we'd never let any of the others down. Mess with one X-Man, we said, you mess with all of them. We'd never leave anybody to face the music by themselves."

I sigh, and push myself to my feet, feeling my back scream in protest as I do so. "I'm not an X-Man, Bobby."

"Makes no difference to me, Becca," Bobby replies, shrugging. "It doesn't make any difference to Hank, or your dad, or Scott. Like I said, you're one of us, babe, and we'll protect you, I promise – whether you're wearing an X belt-buckle or not."

"Thanks, Bobby," I say, wiping at my moistening eyes with the back of one hand. "That means a lot."

Bobby smiles, and touches my wet face gently with one hand, freezing my tears in place so that they fall into his palm and lie there sparkling like tiny diamonds. "No more tears," he says quietly, and then gestures back to the mansion with his other hand. "You want to play some  _Tekken_? I bet it'll take your mind off this."

"You're obsessed with that game, aren't you?" I say, grateful for the subject-change nevertheless. "All right, Bobby – you win. But just the one game, okay?"

* * *

Eleven very evenly-matched games of  _Tekken_ later (of which I won six, and Bobby won five), Bobby and I have put the Playstation away and are watching TV instead. Bobby is flicking through the music channels looking very bored, and I'm just trying to get the chance to see at least one complete video before Bobby hits the next station. "Hey, Bobby," I say, yawning, "I really like REM. Can I just listen to this one song, and then you can go back to channel-surfing again?"

Bobby sighs. "Okay, Rebecca. But the next time we see a Guns N' Roses video, we'll watch that all the way through. Deal?"

"Deal," I reply, and then the two of us sit quietly while the video for  _Losing My Religion_  is playing on the television screen. Once it's finished, though, Bobby is immediately stabbing buttons on the remote again, trying to find something he wants to listen to.

"Damn it," he mutters, annoyed. "They won't play any Aerosmith or Alice Cooper, but they  _do_ play the freakin'  _Backstreet Boys_. What's up with that?"

"They're trying to appeal to people under the age of forty, maybe?" I suggest, helpfully. Bobby gives me a scathing glare then, looking deeply wounded.

"Hey, I'll have you know that Aerosmith and Alice Cooper are two of the most influential rock acts in the history of the twentieth century, young lady," he says. "And  _Dude (Looks Like A Lady)_  is one of the greatest songs ever written, since… well, since ever. I got the video for it on VHS somewhere…" He gets off the sofa and roots around in the cupboard which contains all of our videotapes and DVDs, including Aunt Jean's Jane Fonda workout, Hank's  _Walking With Dinosaurs_  collection, and Mum's piles of Vietnam War films. He rummages for a few moments, and then pulls out a battered old video case before slipping the tape into the machine sitting underneath the television and pushing play. "Sit back and enjoy a rock master class, Rebecca," he says, sounding very satisfied with himself all of a sudden as he sits back and enjoys the sound of the song beginning. When the long guitar solo starts in the middle of the song, though, he gets up and apparently begins playing an invisible guitar of his own, banging his head and silently mouthing the words of the song at the same time.

"Are you on something, Bobby?" I say, flatly. Bobby opens his eyes, immediately flushing a very fetching shade of pink.

"Um… no," he says sheepishly. "Just… playing air guitar."

"Do I have to do it as well, then?" I ask, genuinely puzzled (this is one of the many hundreds of things I've never seen before, after all). Bobby laughs and shakes his head, looking very relieved.

"No, honey – this is just something guys like me tend to do when we're listening to music with a lot of guitar chords in it. We, uh, like pretending we're playing the music for our legions of adoring fans, you see."

I purse my lips and shake my head, feeling even more puzzled than I did before. "I'll never understand men."

Bobby sits back down and ruffles my hair, putting his arm around my shoulder as the video finishes. "Don't worry, Rebecca – I don't think many men understand men too well, either. Still, if it helps, just remember this little motto: 'men are stupid, women are crazy'. It's always worked for me, after all."

"Well, the first bit sounds about right, but I'm not sure about the second," I say, frowning. "I don't  _feel_  very crazy."

"Most crazy people would say the same thing," Bobby counters, chuckling. "See, you're already nuts, so you won't feel any different."

"Shut up, Bobby."

"Spoilsport."

"Exactly," I say, laughing. "I take after my mum too well, I suppose. Now shut up and give me the remote – this week's  _Farscape_  rerun starts in five minutes, and I don't want to miss any of it."

" _Farscape_? That show with the Muppet aliens?" Bobby asks, disbelievingly. "You actually like that crap?"

" _Farscape_ happens to be one of my favourite shows, I'll have you know – even with the Muppet aliens," I say, mimicking Bobby's indignant tone from a few moments ago. "I never miss an episode. And just so you know, Rygel happens to be one of my favourite characters."

Bobby stares at me blankly. "If I knew who that was, I'd say something. But I don't, so I won't."

"Rygel is one of the Muppets," I sigh, throwing my hands up in despair. "He's the small one who floats around in a little chair. The other Muppet is Pilot – the big one who talks with the living ship they all travel in."

"Still not meaning a lot to me, sweetheart," Bobby says. "I think I saw one episode of that show and I swore never to watch it again, so telling me all of this isn't going to make me remember a lot, you know?"

"Well, consider this your education, then," I tell him, flicking the channel to the right station just in time for the pre-opening credits teaser. "I swear, if you don't love it by the end of this episode, you're not going to love it at all –  _Revenging Angel_  is one of the funniest episodes this show ever produced…"

* * *

As the end credits roll, I turn to Bobby with a big smile plastered across my face and say "Well, Bobby – what did you think?" Bobby blinks and looks a little bemused for a second before he says anything.

"That… was the  _weirdest_  hour of TV I've ever seen," he says, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure they're working properly. Then, he grins. "I loved it."

"Thought you might," I reply, satisfied. "What was your favourite part?" I'm pretty sure I know what the answer to this question is going to be, but I'm going to ask Bobby anyway, just to confirm my suspicions.

"Those animate parts," he says, right on cue. "I loved it when D'Argo and John were running around like in an old Road Runner cartoon."

"I told you you'd like it, Bobby," I tell him with a little hint of triumph in my voice, before adopting a slightly more serious tone. "Thanks for doing all of this. You've really cheered me up."

"Hey, don't mention it, snowdrop," Bobby says. "That's all I wanted to do." He ruffles my hair again, and touches me gently on the base of my chin with one hand. "You're a good kid, Rebecca, and I hate seeing you upset. You remember what I said earlier, all right, and don't let things get on top of you. We'll all be here for you, no matter what." His smile returns then, and he points to the video cupboard. "Now how about we watch a movie, huh? I'm sure there's some popcorn in the kitchen somewhere…"


	8. Paying The Piper

My labour started about twenty hours ago. My waters broke while Sam and I were watching television together, and Hank rushed us both down here, to the med-lab, where I've been ever since. I'm sat with my legs up in stirrups, with Sam holding my hand anxiously on my right side and Mum and Dad on my left side. Uncle Scott is standing behind them, wringing his hands and trying not to faint from worry. Mum, Jean and the Professor are all using their powers to help numb my brain as best they can, but I can still feel a huge amount of what's going on, and I really wish I couldn't.

"You're doing really well, honey," Sam tells me, encouragingly, and he wipes away some trickles of sweat from my brow with a handkerchief before handing me a bottle of water. "Here. Gotta keep your thirst away, right?"

"I… guess so," I say, feeling another nasty stab of pain just as I do so, my face screwing up into a wrinkled parody of itself as I let go of both Mum and Sam's hands and put my fingers on my belly, as if I'm trying to force my child out that way – without much success, unfortunately. "God, now I remember why I never… wanted to have a baby…"

"Well, young Miss Braddock," Hank begins, "I hope you will change your mind soon, because you are now fully dilated, and your little one will be arriving very shortly. Push, Rebecca – push!"

"You can do this, button," Mum says as she takes hold of my hand again and squeezes it with a firm, but tender grip. "One last push, and it'll all be over, I promise."

Dad starts to say something then, but it's all lost in the white heat of the pain that washes over me as I scream in stomach-turning agony, and try my hardest to do what Mum and Hank asked of me – and then it's all over. I can feel every last ounce of pressure lifted, and I sink back into the chair, panting and sweating, my hair sticking uncomfortably to my face and neck. But that's the least of my worries now, as Hank shows me my baby, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket that he had saved especially for this moment.

"Your baby, milady," he says kindly. "You and Samuel should feel very proud – you have a beautiful little girl."

I look at my baby as she nestles in my arms, her tiny, perfectly-formed hands opening and closing as she holds her head close to my chest, and I can't help but feel a huge swell of maternal pride at what I've done. I can't quite believe what's happened to me, either, and all I can do is turn my head to look in my fianc's direction and say "Look at her, Sam. Look at her – she's perfect."

"Yeah," Sam agrees in a soft whisper. "That she is." He reaches out to touch her, his fingers brushing the fine, tawny fur that covers her entire body and following the contours of her almost feline face with delicate precision. "Guess one of us must have hair in our genes somewhere, huh?"

Mum and Dad have been standing back for a moment or two so that Sam and I can get our heads around what's just happened, but now they're crowding forwards, eager to see their first grandchild. Dad touches my daughter's hand with his forefinger and lets her grip it tightly. "Hi there," he says in a voice so quiet I almost can't hear it. "You're going to be so loved, little one – you won't have to want for anything, I promise."

As Dad is busy telling my child how he's going to buy her a pony for her first birthday, Mum brushes my forehead with her lips and then kisses Sam on the cheek as she looks adoringly down at the child in my arms. "Congratulations, button," she says, smiling. "Was it worth it?"

"Oh yeah," I murmur, still not quite able to believe what's just happened. Around the other side of the bed, Hank is ushering Aunt Jean and the Professor out of the room so that the rest of us can all catch our breath as a family. Aunt Jean waves goodbye and smiles at me as she leaves, looking as pleased to have been here as Mum and Dad.

 _I'll see you later, honey,_  she says.  _Promise me you'll let me hold her then?_

 _I promise,_  I tell her, with a smile of my own.  _You might have to join the queue, though._

Jean laughs knowingly, and shakes her head.  _Guess I should have booked my spot before all this happened, huh?_

 _Guess so,_  I reply, as I nestle my daughter close to my chest.  _Bye, Jean._

Jean winks at me as she leaves, and calls back to me "See you later, Rebecca." Then she looks at Uncle Scott and says "You coming, Slim?"

Uncle Scott raises his eyebrows over the rim of his ruby-red glasses. "I'll be along in a minute, Jean. Just let me say hi to my new niece, okay?" Jean nods silently, although I can tell she's exchanging a few words with Uncle Scott through their rapport, and then quietly leaves. When she has disappeared, Uncle Scott steps forwards and reaches out tentatively with one hand so that he can brush his fingers against my daughter's doll-like arm. "Wow," he breathes, almost as if he's afraid of breaking her in half just by touching her. "She's amazing." Then his face cracks into a broad smile, and he adds "Can Jean and I borrow her – just for a little while?"

"Sorry, sir," Sam says, a smile of his own crossing his lips before he puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses me on the forehead, "can't let you do that. I gotta get used to being a daddy first, after all."

"I guess so," Uncle Scott replies, doing his best to look disappointed. Then he turns to Mum and Dad, and nods at them conspiratorially. "Think you can get them to change their minds, Betsy?"

"Absolutely not." Mum wags her finger at him, as if she is scolding a naughty child. "You should know better, Mr Summers," she continues, in the same kind of authoritarian tone, "than to expect me to use my powers in such an…  _unethical_  way, especially against my own flesh and blood."

Uncle Scott laughs, and then looks back down at his niece, as if he can't tear his eyes away from her. "Can't blame a guy for trying, though, right?"

"No," Mum says, nodding thoughtfully as she enjoys the positive energy flowing through the room. "I suppose not."

* * *

The air in the corridors of the mansion is cold. It's especially so for me, since I'm only dressed in a pair of silk pyjamas and a woollen robe, having only just been released from the med-lab by a fussy, over-analytical Hank, who was trying desperately to get me to stay in bed for a few hours more rest (which I really wanted to take in my own bed, and so I told him that quite clearly. He wasn't very happy about it, but he agreed to it anyway). I think it's probably best that I'm being wheeled up to my room by Sam, though, because I really don't think I could handle much walking right now – my legs still feel like they're made out of melted toffee, and my back feels about as taut as an untied shoelace now that all the strain it's been under has been cut drastically. My little girl rests on my lap, and I can't resist cooing to her a little as we both get wheeled along the corridor. I know she hasn't got a clue what I'm saying right now, but it feels right to do it, so I'm doing it.

"Hi," I whisper gently, brushing her little face with my fingers, marvelling at how everything about her is so well-developed – her pointed fingernails and eyebrows are all there, and she has a full head of hair, too, which is coloured the same as the rest of the fur on her body. I know I saw all of this with my little brother, but this time is different, just because this time it's my baby I'm holding. My child.

A part of me.

"This is the best place to grow up in," I say quietly, pointing ahead of me down the hallway. "You won't ever have to worry about people thinking you're bad here."

"Seems that way, punkin," says a voice from a little way along the corridor. I look up and see Uncle Logan leaning casually against the wall near the room that Sam and I have begun sharing. He is dressed as casually as he always is, in a red and black-check shirt and scruffy blue jeans, with his battered Stetson angled down a little over his hairy face. He pushes himself into a standing position and lopes towards us at an effortlessly relaxed pace. When he gets close to us, he kneels and stretches out one rough hand to touch my daughter. He pauses then and asks "You mind?" I shake my head, and so he reaches out again with his right hand. He's a little tentative at first, more than once drawing his hand back as if he's afraid he's going to hurt her, but then he closes his fist and tries again, brushing her soft, tiny hand gently with his blunt fingers. For a moment or two I can see a rare smile on Logan's face as he leans closer to her and tentatively samples her scent, and then he looks up at Sam and me and says "You did good, kids." Then he stands up and nods towards mine and Sam's room. "I left you a little surprise – go ahead, take a look." He stands aside so that Sam can wheel me inside, and when he's done so, I can see a wooden cradle standing in the centre of the polished floorboards, the large sash window casting streams of sunlight across its painted surface. It's decorated with delicate patterned carvings that curve all over its surface, and there are rows of wooden bars on each side which connect two arching headboards, both of which have a large X symbol etched into them. When Sam and I turn back to face Logan, another smile has splashed itself onto his hairy face. "Call it a housewarming present, kid," he says simply. "I did one for your mom, so I figured it was only fair to do one for you, too."

"Thanks, sir," Sam tells him gratefully, as he sees that I can't quite say anything at the moment. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure, son," Logan says, and then draws Sam into a hug, slapping the younger man on the back a couple of times as he does so. "Congratulations, bub. Take good care of both of them."

"That's what I was plannin' to do, sir," Sam replies, sounding a little taken aback by Logan's show of emotion, but also sounding very happy that he's got the older man's seal of approval – he knows how highly Logan thinks of me, after all, so being able to say that Logan thinks he's doing the right thing has been very important to him. "Never crossed my mind to do anything different."

"Good boy," says a guttural, snarling voice from behind us, even as the sucking boom of a disappearing tesseract fades away. Instantly, Sam turns to see who said the words, and Logan growls from the back of his throat, his claws popping from between his knuckles with a messy tearing of flesh. Stuck in my chair as I am, all I can do is crane my neck backwards to get a visual confirmation of what my telepathy is telling me.

Sure enough, standing behind me, brandishing a large rifle (which looks like it's been pieced together from a dozen different guns) is Scalphunter, and behind him are gathered Vertigo, Scrambler and Riptide – and none of them look like they're here to offer me their congratulations. "Time's up, Mindwipe," Scalphunter laughs, deliberately using the codename that Sinister himself gave to me, just to remind me that I never truly escaped our mutual creator. "Give up the kid and nothing bad will happen to your boyfriend."

In an instant, Logan has placed himself between Sam and myself and the Marauders, both sets of bone claws unsheathed. "Go," he says in a low tone, before turning back to us briefly and shouting "Get the hell out of here!  _Go!_ " It's all the incentive Sam needs, and he rushes around to the front of my chair to help me stand, making sure I'm holding as tightly to my daughter as I can. As we struggle down the corridor, we can hear the sounds of battle erupting behind us, Logan's growls and snarls mixing with the sharp cracks of gunfire and the whirling thuds of Riptide's resin stars as they hammer themselves brutally into every surface around him. We haven't got more than five metres down the passageway when one of those resin stars lodges itself into Sam's shoulder. I can feel the razor-sharp edges cutting deep into his flesh through our link, and it's all I can do not to share his cry of pain.

"Can't hang around any more," Sam grunts through gritted teeth, blood already beginning to run down his back and drip onto the floor. "Brace yourself, Rebecca – hold on tight." He picks me up in his arms and ignites his blast field, propelling us down the corridor twice as fast as we would have been able to travel before. The wind rushes past my ears, but I can still hear my baby screaming. Trying to keep as firm a grip on her as I can, I cuddle her closer to my chest and hope that this will all be over as quickly as possible.

Sam propels us out of the window ahead of us and brings us down to the lawn outside, where I can see Bobby, Dad and Uncle Scott all sitting on the grass and looking up at the afternoon sky. When they see us, though, they instantly snap out of their relaxed state and rush up to where we're standing. "Are you okay?" Uncle Scott asks, even though it's pretty obvious we aren't.

"The Marauders," I say, gasping for breath. "The Marauders are here."

"Oh, no," Bobby says, before his fists clench and his body instantly becomes covered in a layer of ice. He's just in time, too, because just as he does that, the window through which Sam and I flew explodes outwards, carrying Uncle Logan with it in a shower of wood and glass. He lands heavily on the mansion's lawn, sending clumps of earth and grass flying, and as he picks himself up, Scalphunter, Vertigo and Riptide all follow him out of the window. They land much more gracefully than he did and are almost instantly ready for whatever is coming their way – Scalphunter's guns are trained on Uncle Scott in the blink of an eye, as if Grey Crow instinctively knows where the greatest threat is. Bobby decides to make the first move by moving towards them on an ice-slide, his iced-up form gaining about a hundred pounds of mass in the brief time it takes for him to reach them. Before they register that he's done so, he's thrown himself at Scalphunter and landed a hammering right cross into the other man's scarred jaw. Scalphunter rolls with the blow, but still loses his grip on the gun in his right hand. Seeing that the other gun is dangerously close to his body, Bobby nods at it, encasing it in a thick globe of ice. Bellowing in rage, Scalphunter tries vainly to pull his hand out of the ice, but then simply backhands Bobby across the face with it, sending him crashing to the ground. Before he can do anything else, though, Uncle Scott has hit him squarely in the centre of the chest with a wide-angle optic blast, and Scalphunter is pushed backwards into Vertigo and Riptide, the three Marauders sprawling to the grass in a messy heap. As soon as he's done that, Sam takes off with a short run-up and flies quickly towards Scrambler. Carefully, he picks the other man up in such a way as to leave no openings for the other man's mutant powers, and then flies in a corkscrew pattern that should disorient and confuse anybody who isn't a natural flier.

Sure enough, when he comes back down to earth, it's all Scrambler can do to stagger two paces before he collapses to his knees and brings up most of his lunch. Sam grins at me quickly, and says "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?"

Meanwhile, Uncle Logan has picked himself up, and, together with Uncle Scott, is using a pincer movement on Scalphunter, Vertigo and Riptide – while Uncle Scott uses surgical optic blasts to push them in the direction he wants them to go, Uncle Logan is attacking them at close quarters and forcing them off-balance. Riptide's resin stars pepper his flesh, but he doesn't seem all that bothered by them, and for a moment it looks like this battle is almost over.

Then Sinister materialises in front of me, another tesseract closing behind him as he steps out onto the grass, flanked by Blockbuster, Harpoon and my clone, who hangs off Harpoon's arm like a demented child holding its mother's hand. "Hello, child," he says, in that genteel, cultured voice that could almost strip flesh from bones. "I believe it's time for you to pay your debt to me, don't you?"

I shake my head furiously, clutching my screaming baby close to my chest, trying to get her to settle down a little. "No," I tell him, feeling tears flooding my vision. "No! You're not having her!"

Sinister steps closer to me, his eyes narrowing to slits. "My dear Rebecca," he says in a low, dangerous tone, looking like a snake about to strike, "I'm afraid you don't have a choice. You are my daughter, little girl, and I am your father – so do as I tell you, and give me your child.  _Now._ "

"No," I snarl, spitting the word out with bitter venom and feeling fury surging through my veins like liquid magma as tears course down my cheeks. "This is my baby, and I will  _not_  give her up; not to you, not to anyone."

Before Sinister can reply, he's suddenly encased on four sides by four tall walls of ice. Bobby alights by my side and chuckles, knocking on the side of the huge ice blocks with one large fist. "Hey, genius, can you hear me in there?" he snickers. "You call this a good strategy?" Then, he picks me up and uses an ice slide to carry him, me and my little girl as far away from Sinister as he can manage. "You okay, snowdrop?" he asks me cautiously, as soon as we're a safe distance from the ice blocks. I nod, silently, and he raises his iced-up eyebrows in response. "Yeah, I guess that's all you can say, ain't it?" he muses, before he looks towards the mansion, indicating the hastily-assembled team of X-Men running towards us, pieces of their uniforms still unsecured or missing – Mum, Dad, Hank, Bishop and Rogue. "Nice of you to show up, guys," Bobby says, almost sarcastically. "Better late then never, right?"

In fact, it's just in time, as Sinister finally manages to smash open the walls of his prison with a couple of powerful energy bursts, and then begins to advance on us with both of his clenched fists still trailing wisps of energy. His murderous expression carries with it a searing mental presence – before my mind turns to a white haze of pain, I can see Mum and Jean clawing at their foreheads in agony. I'd do the same, but I can't let go of my child. She wails loudly again, angrily telling me that she wants to be fed, but I can't do anything about that now. Through tear-filled eyes, I can see Bishop unhooking one of his guns from his waistband and firing a crimson burst of energy right at Sinister's head. It sizzles through his liquid flesh, leaving a hole that melts back on itself almost instantly, and Bishop then fires twice more, hitting Sinister in the chest and right leg.

Sinister just smiles thinly, and shakes his head as his body quickly repairs itself and his initial anger gives way to gentle amusement. "I'm disappointed, my boy. I thought you had a longer memory than that – or do you not remember what happened the last time you tried such a strategy?" Then, his expression hardening, he stalks towards the rest of the X-Men and continues "I hope you realise this is a futile gesture. I have come for Rebecca's child, and I will be leaving with Rebecca's child. There is nothing you can do to stop me."

Just then, Hank steps forwards and holds up a sealed vial filled with a thick soup of something that I can't identify. "Wait," he says. "I have a deal to propose."

Sinister raises an eyebrow archly. "Do you now? Well, then, Doctor McCoy, do enlighten me. What can you possibly give me?"

Hank throws Sinister the vial, which he catches easily with a single movement of his right hand. "That's DNA samples and amniotic fluid I took from Rebecca's womb for an amniocentesis scan," Hank says. "You can do whatever research you want on those. And if you take them, you leave Rebecca's baby with us."

Sinister's left hand strays to his chin as he weighs up his options, and examines the vial's contents with a critical eye. Then he smiles broadly, his awful dagger-teeth gleaming like a shark's. "Very well, Doctor," he says in a coldly conversational tone, "you may consider this bargain struck. I have always believed that live subjects are better, of course, but DNA is as good as anything else, I suppose." He leers at me then, making my skin crawl. "I trust I shall get some good research from these samples – good DNA is hard to come by, after all…"

A tesseract opens behind him, and he and his Marauders vanish into thin air, leaving behind only his threats and some broken glass to show for it. It's only when the rest of the X-Men crowd around me that I can finally feel safe. "Take me home," I ask Sam quietly. " _Please_ …"


	9. And Then There Were Three

Sam and I are sat in the garden of the mansion, lying on a blanket and watching our little girl, our little Hannah, as she suckles hungrily from my left breast. Mum warned me about what this would feel like, but I can't really see any down side to it at all. It still feels a little strange, sure, but it's the best way I can think of for me and my daughter (I'm still getting used to that part, too; it wasn't so long ago that I was the baby of the family…) to bond. I'm still surprised Hank let me out of the med-lab this soon, though – he wouldn't hear of Mum leaving until at least a full fortnight after my little brother was born, and then only after a lot of persuasion (and a little bribery) on Dad's part. Perhaps he just has that much more confidence in my healing abilities than he does in Mum's… but then again, I haven't had to go through what Mum went through before she had my little brother, so I've probably got an advantage there as well. Either way, here I am, lying in the garden and enjoying the mid-day sunshine and not regretting one moment of it.

"Greedy little thing, ain't she?" Sam says in a soft whisper, as he reaches out and brushes his fingers against her tawny fur. She gurgles quietly as she feels him touching her, and her own tiny hands unfurl as she does so, showing us the equally small claws on her fingertips. Sam smiles at those and laughs broadly. "Tell you what, honey – I ain't lookin' forward to when she gets teeth, if they're goin' to be anythin' like that."

I nod in agreement. "Me neither," I say quite honestly. "I really hope she doesn't start catching mice when she gets older."

"Trust me, Bec," Sam begins, "the only bad thing about that would be if she started dropping bits of the damn things on our bed. You wouldn't  _believe_  how many mice live in a place this big."

"It can't be that many, surely – I mean, Charles has the pest-control people in here so often. That must have an effect, right?" I say, not quite sure if he's telling the complete truth or not. Sam nods, as if he can feel my doubts.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" he replies, shrugging. "Too bad it doesn't often work out that way, then." He chuckles. "I once came face to face with this huge rat while I was cleaning out the Danger Room's controls – I swear, the thing nearly took my hand off, it was so big. If this little lady can get rid of critters like that, then she can do it as much as she wants, as far as I'm concerned." He reaches down and strokes our daughter's furry cheek again as I close my blouse and let her start digesting her lunch, after making sure to burp her. "I just don't want her bitin' me, that's all."

"I'm sure she wouldn't do that unless she was  _really_  annoyed with you, Sam," I say, trying to sound as reassuring as I can. Then a naughty thought passes across the front of my mind, and I just have to share it with him. "And I don't bite unless you want me to, remember? I'm sure our daughter's just the same."

Sam covers his face with his hands, before drawing them down his cheeks and stretching the skin out ever so slightly, so that the edges of his eyes are angled downwards for a moment. "Oh, man," he says, in disbelief. "I can't  _believe_  you just said that. Who knows who might be listenin'?" He brushes my face with his hand then, a brief smile passing across his lips. "Guess your momma still needs to give you those lessons on tact, huh?"

"Shut up, Sam," I retort, laughing. "I'm  _perfectly_  tactful. I wouldn't say anything like that if I didn't think we weren't on our own, you know."

"Is that right?" Sam replies, putting a hand to his chin. "Pardon me if I don't take you at your word, honey, but I've seen you drunk as a lord and tellin' everybody around you absolutely everythin' you can think to tell 'em. You got looser lips than Jubilee when you've had a few drinks, you know."

"You liar," I say, pursing my lips and giving him my best 'I hate you' glare. "I've never been more than tipsy in my entire life. And considering how long I've actually  _been_  alive, that should tell you something, right?"

"Yeah," Sam chuckles. "It tells me you don't remember the times you've been so drunk you couldn't even stand up straight. Boy, there was one time when –"

"I'm really going to hit you in a second, Sam," I say flatly. "You make me sound like a completely different person."

Sam holds his hands up defensively, and shakes his head. "Okay, okay, you win." Then, he leans forwards and kisses me on the forehead, stroking my cheek for a moment before he touches his lips to mine. "Wouldn't have you any other way, you know."

"Creep," I reply, running my hand through his hair. "Same to you, by the way."

Sam grins, and kisses me again. "Good to know it, darlin'." Then he nods towards the mansion. "You know, we're gonna have to show the others our kid sooner or later. You want to talk about that now?"

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice, really, do I?" I sigh. "Couldn't we just do it a few people at a time? I don't want everybody in the mansion crowding round her and freaking her out, that's all. It worked for Mum when she had Tom, after all."

"Well, now's your chance," Sam says, and points to his right. Following his finger, I find myself looking at Bobby as he's jogging through the gardens, his cheeks puffing out as he puts himself through his paces.

"Maybe we should wait until Bobby's finished his run?" I suggest, carefully. "You know how much he likes having time to himself."

"Ah, I bet he won't mind," Sam laughs. "Come on – we won't know until we try, will we?" He takes Hannah from my arms and then – somehow – helps me get to my feet, before handing our daughter back to me with an encouraging look on his face. "It'll be fine, honey, I promise." Hannah mews softly then, as if she's agreeing with her father, and his encouragement turns to laughter. "See? Even she thinks so."

"I suppose I'm out of options then, aren't I?" I say, rolling my eyes. "All right, Sam, I'll do it… but on your head be it, okay?"

"Good girl," Sam chuckles, before he raises one hand in the direction of Bobby and loudly says "Bobby? Could y'all come here a moment, please?" As soon as he says that, I can see Bobby quickly changing direction and scampering towards us like a little boy after too much sugar.

"Hey, snowdrop," Bobby says when he's close enough to talk to me normally, before he looks down at my little girl. "So I guess this is the  _new_  new arrival?" He bends down and begins to inspect Hannah as she lies in my arms, rubbing her feline nose with her small furry fingers. "She's… um… she's pretty different from you and Sam, Rebecca. You sure you didn't run off with Logan while we weren't looking?"

That makes me laugh. "No, Bobby, I most certainly did  _not_  do that. Uncle Logan's too hairy for me, anyway." Then I nod down towards Hannah and say "So what do you think of her?"

"Personally?" Bobby says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Personally, I think she's beautiful. What's her name – or don't you know that one yet?"

"Her name's Hannah," I tell him. "Hannah Henrietta Bobbi Guthrie." I pause, lifting my shoulders in an almost sheepish shrug. "Or it will be when Sam and I get married, anyway."

"Oh my." Bobby says, his eyes bulging in shock. "Seriously?"

I nod. "Seriously. Sam and I discussed it, and he thought it was a great idea, too."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "I'd love it if my little girl was named after two of the original X-Men. That sound like a good idea to you?"

"Are you kidding? I think it's a fantastic idea." Bobby murmurs as he brushes his fingers against our little girl's arm and gazes at his new "niece" in wonder. Then he smiles at her and whispers "Hear that, honey? You're going to have my name." He leans closer then and continues "If I were you, I'd use that one all the time. It's the coolest name ever."

"No pun intended, of course," I say, one eyebrow raised gently. Then, I nod down to Hannah and hold her out towards Bobby. "Would you like to hold her? It's not difficult."

"Easy for you to say, kid," Bobby says, suddenly sounding very nervous. "What if I drop her? I'd never forgive myself."

"You won't drop her if you do as I tell you, Bobby," I reply. "Didn't you get any practice with my little brother?"

"Well, sure," Bobby begins, a little defensively, "but he didn't have claws. What if she cuts me and makes me let go?"

"She hasn't done that to anybody else, Bobby," I tell him firmly, just to put his fears at rest. "Her claws couldn't cut butter at this point. Here, let me show you how to do it…" Stepping forwards, I let Bobby take Hannah from my arms and get him to support her head and back as fully as he can, and smile as his face lights up like a little boy on Christmas morning. As he does so, Hannah squeals quietly and shifts herself in his arms to make herself more comfortable. Then, she opens her yellow eyes a little and meets his gaze with a slightly hazy look of her own, her vertical pupils wide even in the early afternoon light. She yawns, pulling her feline lips over her pink, toothless gums, and goes back to sleep, nestling herself in the crook of Bobby's arms without a care in the world. I smile broadly and nod to Bobby. "See? It's not so hard when you try, is it?"

"I… uh… guess it isn't," Bobby admits sheepishly. "You… you're not going to ask me to change her diaper too, are you? 'Cause if you are, I told your mom the same thing I'm going to tell you – I suck at changing diapers. I really, truly suck. I'm sucktacular. I'm the King of Suckvania. I –"

"Okay, Bobby, I get your point," I tell him quickly (because I can tell that if I don't stop him now, he'll go on for a while yet). "I promise we'll never ask you to change her nappy."

"'Nappy'?" Bobby says, chuckling. "That's what you Limeys call diapers, right?" I nod, and Bobby's smile widens. "I don't think I'll ever understand where you guys get some of your words from," he says brightly, before he looks down at the small figure in his arms and murmurs "Don't worry, kid, I'll teach you the proper way to talk."

"If you don't mind, Bobby," Sam interrupts, a wry grin splashed onto his face, "I think Bec and I can do that. Don't want her talkin' like she just fell out of the TV, do we?"

Bobby makes a face. "I'm wounded, Sam. I am positively  _wounded._  Why, the only person who talks better than me around these parts is Hank – and he's not here right now. So you're going to have to take what I give you and like it, young man." Hannah coughs a little then, and begins to wail in a high, keening tone, prompting Bobby to instantly look panicked. "Uh… a little help?" he asks, a desperate edge coming into his voice. Closing my eyes, I reach into her mind to see what's bothering her, and once I've determined what that is, I smile. At least it's nothing life-threatening right now, anyway…

Reaching forwards to take Hannah back from Bobby, I give him an encouraging look. "It's okay, Bobby – she just wanted to come back to Mummy, that's all."

Bobby breathes an audible sigh of relief, and wipes some sweat from his brow. "That's cool. I'd hate for her to be allergic to me already..."

* * *

After a few more moments of chatting with Bobby, Sam and I start making our way back towards the mansion, with Hannah nestling in Sam's arms and slumbering quietly after we had managed to get her to go back to sleep. Sam brushes some of her cheek fur back into its proper place with a tentative movement of one hand, and nods down towards her. "I reckon we should take advantage of this while we can, don't you? Might not get another chance at peace and quiet for a while yet, you know."

"You think so?" I say, glancing up at his boyish features as short lengths of blond hair flop down onto his forehead, and then looking down at our daughter and tucking her blanket more closely around her so as to keep out the slight breeze. It's the same light blue Donald Duck blanket that Dad bought Mum when Tom was born, so it's become a sort of family heirloom. It's not much, sure, but it matters to us, and Hannah seems to like it just as much as her uncle did when he was a baby, so that's really all that matters. She flexes her clawed fingers on its edge and begins to dream, blurry colours and sounds flowing gently through her mind from a strange mixture of different sources. I can feel her immature brain still trying to make sense of what she's experienced in the past few days, and somewhere in the jumbled mess of light and noise, I can see brief flashes of Sam and I looking down at her – at least, that's what it seems to be, anyway; it's too blurry to really tell what it is she's seeing. "She's dreaming," I tell Sam in a whisper. "She's dreaming about us."

"Well, I guess we  _have_  been a pretty important part of her first few days here at the mansion," Sam says, smiling. "I think it's obvious she'd be thinkin' about us. Only thing that really would get me worried is if she started dreamin' about Bobby."

That makes me laugh. "I suppose that  _would_  be worrying, wouldn't it?" Then, turning back towards the mansion, I can see Kurt and Cecilia sitting on the porch outside, eating some ice cream and laughing as they talk to each other, in between sharing the occasional kiss. After taking a spoonful of ice cream from the bowl in his left hand, Kurt uses his tail to reach up and stroke Cecilia's cheek, its pointed tip drawing a line down from her ear to her lips. When it reaches her mouth, Cecilia kisses it playfully – and then looks embarrassed as she sees Sam and me approaching. When Kurt notices her expression changing, he turns to see what has affected her and then sees us. His furry face splits into a wide, fanged grin then, and he teleports closer to us in an instant, the pungent stench of brimstone filling the air for a moment or two until the breeze carries it away.

" _Guten tag,_  you two," he says. "I trust you are having a good day?" Then he leans forward and touches Hannah gently with the tip of one large finger. "And I trust that this little one is on her best behaviour,  _ja?_ "

"Just about," I say, brushing some hair out of my face with my right hand. "She can be quiet sometimes, but she can make a lot of noise when she feels like it, too."

"She sounds suspiciously like someone else I know," Kurt chuckles, winking one of his yellow eyes. "Come, sit with Cecilia and me. I'm sure she would like to hear what you have been doing today, after all. We'll even let you share our ice cream, if you like."

"Thanks, Kurt – that's real kind of you," Sam says gratefully, and so Kurt leads us over to the swinging chair that he and Cecilia had been sharing, ushering us towards a couple of deck chairs that are unfolded and set in the direction of the horizon, and covered with a couple of patterned blankets.

"Hi, kids," Cecilia says, waving her spoon at us as we sit down. "I see you brought your new bundle of joy with you. How's she behaving herself so far, Rebecca?"

"Well, like I just told Kurt…" I begin, with not a little hesitation, "she's quiet when she wants to be quiet, but she wants to be loud much more often."

"I can relate to that," Cecilia replies, rolling her eyes. "Living around this madhouse, I can  _definitely_  relate to that. I mean, I can't even remember the last time Kurt and I could afford to spend a full evening together – I'm on call 24/7, and he's an X-Man 24/7… it's tough fitting our lives around that, you know?"

"I suppose it must be," I say, thoughtfully. "I also suppose Mum would say that that sounds just like being a parent – and I'm beginning to see why. Hannah's only a few days old, and already I have  _totally_ lost count of the number of times I've had to put her needs before mine." Reaching over to Sam, I take Hannah back into my arms and cuddle her gently, kissing her furry forehead with a brief, fleeting touch of my lips against her insulated skin. She whimpers in a low, keening tone when I stop, but she soon calms down and begins to find her ideal sleeping position – after the day she's had, she must be exhausted, after all. Kurt sees her shifting slightly and leans forwards to see more clearly what she's doing.

"Ach, I remember your little brother doing this," he says. "Your mother was very tolerant of his moving about, too – but do you find you have the same problems as she did during the earliest weeks of her motherhood? The impatience to get out and do things?"

"No, not really," I reply, shrugging my shoulders as best I can. "I mean, yes, I do wish I could still do some of the things I did before Hannah arrived, but not as much as I like being around Hannah. That's the best thing in the whole world."

"Better than the Danger Room?" Cecilia asks, grinning.

"A million times better," I tell her, returning her grin with a broad, slightly sheepish smile of my own. "Thank you for bringing that up, though. I hadn't  _quite_  forgotten how stupid I was then, after all."

Cecilia bows at the waist slightly, and raises her bowl to me in acknowledgement. "I live to serve." Then, Kurt reaches forwards and gestures towards Hannah as she sleeps, pointing at her with one large forefinger.

"May I ask you something, Rebecca – Sam?" he says curiously, but also a little warily. "Would you let me pray over your child? I am not a priest, I know, but I wish to give her my blessings, just as I did with Tom – and I think that the Lord will not frown on someone doing that, do you?"

"I… don't really know," I say. "I don't know that much about God."

"I think it's a great idea," Sam exclaims quickly, rescuing me from my discomfort. "It shouldn't take long, right, Kurt?"

Kurt looks delighted then, and he nods. "No, it should not take very long." Then he closes his eyes, and Sam and Cecilia both do the same. Feeling a little awkward, I follow suit and then hear him start to pray. "Heavenly Father, bless this child as she begins her journey through life. We ask that she be sheltered from the storms that life may direct at her, and given every chance to become all that she can possibly become. Bless Sam and Rebecca as they embark on a journey of their own, as they begin to learn what it means to be parents – may they find every day to be a fresh experience. Father, we ask that you bless this new family and ensure that they are protected from harm. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost… amen."

As I open my eyes, I find Kurt gently marking a cross on Hannah's forehead with his fingertip. "There, little one," he murmurs, smiling. "The Lord will smile on you – of that I am certain." Then, he glances up at me. "She is truly beautiful, Rebecca… she must take after her mother."

Cecilia rolls her eyes. "You just can't help yourself, can you? I swear, Rebecca, I can't take this guy anywhere when there are other girls around… it's like waving a copy of  _Hustler_ in front of a teenage boy."

"Ach, you should learn to lighten up a little,  _liebchen_ ," Kurt chuckles, tickling her face with his tail. "You are the only one for me – you know that. I am just… giving my personal opinion about Rebecca's baby. Is that really so bad?"

"Absolutely," Cecilia laughs. "I see I'm going to have to keep reminding you of exactly why that is…"

* * *

In the early evening, Sam and I are sitting with Mum and Dad in the rec. room, while Hank plays some Beethoven on the piano in the corner and Tom sits on the rug in front of us, playing noisily with his building blocks and occasionally chewing on an old teething ring.

"So, button, did you have a good day?" Mum asks me, sipping from her tea cup and taking a bite of her chocolate-chip cookie. Picking up one of my own from the plate that sits on the glass coffee table between us, I nod enthusiastically and take a large bite of my cookie.

"Yes, we had a great day – didn't we, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam agrees, shifting Hannah in his arms a little. "Bec and I decided not to have a large meeting so we could introduce Hannah to everyone, so we're just findin' all the X-Men an' introducin' them to her one by one, or in pairs. We thought it'd be better for her not to get too overwhelmed so soon."

"That sounds like a very good idea," Dad says thoughtfully. "So are we the first?"

"Sorry, Dad, but no," I tell him. "We met Bobby in the garden at lunchtime, and he loved her."

  
"Doesn't surprise me. Bobby always was the sentimental type, no matter how much he say otherwise," Mum says. "Who else have you see today, then?"

"We saw Kurt and Cecilia too." I pause. "Kurt… um… well, he prayed for Hannah. Did he do that for Tom as well?"

"Yes. I thought it was nice that he thought so highly of him," Mum smiles. "He just wants to show that he loves Hannah just as much as he loves you, that's all. It's like Logan building you that cradle, or Scott asking if he can look after her for a little while every so often – they all love Hannah very much, and they all want to show it in their own way. Kurt asking God to bless her is just his way of expressing that love."

"It's true. I'd go with it, kid," Dad echoes. "This house is full of love, even if some of us don't really get along that well. Pretty much every X-Man here wants the best for your little girl, just like they do for your brother. And hey, you're getting free stuff – that can't be bad, huh?"

"Thanks, Dad," I say dryly. "Just like you to give me the financial benefits of having a child."

"Don't be too hard on your father, button," Mum laughs. "He tries hard."

"Gee, thanks," Dad protests. "Sam? Hank? A little help?"

"Much as I would love to intervene, Warren, I have to say I agree with your wife's assessment of the situation," Hank says, as he closes the lid on the piano and walks over to sit with us, easing his large body into an armchair across from where Sam and I are sitting.

"Sam?" Dad asks desperately.

"Hey, Warren, I ain't gettin' involved in this one," Sam replies, laughing. "If I've learned one thing, it's that puttin' my neck on the line for you is a bad idea."

Dad scowls. "Okay, be like that, you two. I'll just sit here and take whatever my wife and daughter are going to throw at me. I hope you're proud of yourselves."

"Oh, don't be like that, Warren," Mum coaxes him, winking. "You know we all think you're super really."

"Absolutely," Hank agrees. "Why, I can't think of a better man to borrow Twinkie money from. You're always fair with your rates of interest and won't ever chase up a debt until you really feel it's necessary." He pauses, watching Dad's indignant expression with great amusement. "And of course, if there's one other thing I would trust you with, it's my life."

"Thanks, fuzzy," Dad says, relieved. "Knew I could count on you."

Hank leans forwards in his chair, bobbing his head low for a moment. "It was my privilege and my pleasure, Warren."

Just then, Tom gets up off the floor and totters slowly over to where Mum and Dad are sitting. His steps are still a little slow and tentative, but he's getting stronger with every step. When he reaches Mum, she picks him up and puts him in her lap. "Hello there, sweetheart," she says. "Are you sitting comfortably?"

Tom smiles enthusiastically, sucking messily on one small finger before he leans over to see his new niece. Then, he points at her with that same finger and says, in a soft but confident voice, "Bear." Looking at Hank, he points at him as well, saying "Bear" again, a little more loudly this time.

As Mum and Dad gasp excitedly and begin fussing over my brother's first word, I see Hank raising his shaggy eyebrows and putting one hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Yes – yes, I suppose we are," he murmurs, looking down at Hannah with his clear blue eyes and reaching down to stroke her fur with one hairy hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hannah."

_Fin._


End file.
